The mare dropped over the east side of the hill as if she had been shot. Douglas turned the Moose after her and they hurled down the steep slope with thundering hoofs. For some moments, the Moose sought to turn hither and yon as different horses flashed across his vision. But Doug held him to the black mare, and once the Moose realized that she alone was their quarry Douglas was able to give almost all his attention to watching her strategy.

She did not show fight nor did she double on her tracks. Fleet as a bird, she flew over the hills, dropping into canyons, leaping draws, jumping rock heaps, until little by little she drew ahead of the Moose until she became no larger than a black coyote against the yellow hills. But Douglas would not allow the Moose to break from his swift trot. As long as he could keep the mare in sight he was content.

The sun was sailing high and the Moose was winded when the mare, cantering painfully along the ridge of a hill, stumbled and fell. She was up again at once but her gait slowed, perceptibly. In less than a half-hour Doug was within roping distance of her. As the lariat sung above her head, she half turned, gave Doug a look of anguished surprise, leaped sideways and disappeared up a crevice in a canyon wall. Douglas spurred the Moose in after her. They were in a little valley, thick grown with dwarf willow. The mare was not to be seen.

Now began a search that persisted till the Moose's sturdy legs were trembling. Douglas threaded the valley again and again. There was no exit save through the one crevice by which they had entered. He had all but concluded that the mare had been swallowed up by the earth when he found her trail, turning up the south wall. He spurred the Moose upward, and there in a clump of cedars he found her hiding. With a laugh he again twirled his rope and it slipped over the tossing black head. As the Moose turned and the rope tightened, the mare gave a scream that was like that of a human being in dire agony. For a moment she dragged back, then, head drooping, trembling in every muscle, she followed in.

Dusk was falling when Douglas made the camp. Charleton already had started a fire in the little cook-stove. He came out and examined the mare as well as the failing light and her extreme timidity permitted.

"She's a beauty, Doug. Don't believe she's over four years old. Any brand on her?"

"No. From the looks of her hoofs, I'd say she'd been born with the herd. What luck did you have, Charleton?"

"None at all. I took after a young stallion and he wore my horse out. I know where he's bedding down to-night and I'll get him to-morrow or shoot him."

"You'll get him," said Douglas.

Charleton chuckled. "Nice thing if the mare is all we bring in. Make some coffee, Doug. The biscuits are baking. I could eat one of Sister's coyotes to-night." Charleton jammed another sage-brush knot into the little stove.

They were off at dawn. Douglas rode this day a young bay horse he had recently broken and named Pard. But though Pard was strong and willing, he lacked the skill of the Moose in running this rough country, and by noon Douglas was obliged to give up the pursuit of a dapple gray he had selected. He was far out on the plains when he made the decision to turn campward. To the distant south, in the Lost Chief ranges, a snowstorm was raging; but Pard and Douglas were dripping with sweat, under a sweltering sun. Strange, thimble-shaped green hills, dotted the plains about them. Douglas drew up at the base of one of these to rest his horse. Scarcely had he done so when a tiny herd of antelope trotted casually round the neighboring hillock. They halted, sniffed, and turned, but not before Douglas had drawn his saddle gun and fired at the leader. The creature went lame at once but disappeared with his fellows among the green hills.

Douglas followed and shortly found a spot of blood that was repeated at irregular intervals for a mile or so. Pard was grunting now, but Douglas rowelled him and pushed on until he saw the antelope kneeling in the lee of an outcropping of rock. It struggled to its feet and fell again, its beautiful head dropping against its crimsoned breast.

"Wonder if I can get you home alive to Judith?" said Douglas.

After a moment of thought, he loosened his lariat, swung and roped the antelope around the horns, dragging it from its futile sanctuary. Then he dismounted and removed the lariat. The antelope bleated but lay trembling, making no attempt to rise. Douglas examined the shattered shoulder.

"You poor devil!" he said. "Even if you weren't hurt so badly, you'd die of fright before I could get you home. Well, of course I'm sorry venison is out of season, but a man must eat!" He put his gun to the delicate head, and an hour later Pard was snorting under a gunny-sack of venison. Douglas lighted a cigarette and, whistling gaily, started once more for camp.

But this, if not a day of what Lost Chief would call real adventure, was at least to be a day of episode. About mid-afternoon Doug heard the tinkle of a sheep-bell. He was not surprised, for he knew that he was well within sheep country. He followed the tinkle and came shortly to a wide draw where moved a mighty gray mass of sheep. The herder, on a bay horse, responded to Doug's halloo with a wave of his hand. Douglas made his way round the edge of the draw and waited for the herder, who rode slowly up to meet him. Then he stared at the stranger's gray-bearded face with the utmost surprise.

"Mr. Fowler!" he cried. "What are you doing out here?"

The older man, in shabby blue overalls and jumper, a black slouch hat pulled over his eyes, smiled grimly.

"You have the advantage of me, young man. I don't remember your face."

"I'm glad you don't!" replied Douglas. "But I've always wanted to tell you I sure-gawd was ashamed of myself. I was the kid that made you trouble at Lost Chief seven or eight years ago."

Fowler's blade brows met as he studied the young rider's frank face.

"So you are!" he said slowly. "So you are! Well, I'll never have that kind of trouble again. Have you eaten? I'm late about dinner. Fact is, I get careless about my meals, living alone!"

"No, I've been out after wild horses and don't plan to eat till I get back to camp ten miles yonder on the creek."

"Better break bread with me," suggested the preacher.

"That's sure white of you. I don't mind if I do." Douglas returned Mr. Fowler's grim look with one of wistful curiosity.

The preacher silently led the way to the sheep-herder's wagon which perched on the peak of a hill above the draw. "I don't have much to offer you but beans," he said as they dismounted.

Douglas looked from the blood-stained gunny-sack to the clergyman's deep-set eyes, hesitated, then said, "Beans are good and the sheep-man's staple." He followed into the wagon and sat on the edge of the bunk while Fowler prepared the frugal meal.

"Do you mind telling me," asked Doug, "why you are herding sheep instead of folks?"

"I couldn't earn a decent living herding folks. My wife died. I took anything that offered that would take me away from men and their accursed ways. There was something about sheep-herding that made me think of Jesus Christ and the country round about Bethlehem. I have found a kind of peace here."

Douglas cleared his throat. "How long have you been at it?"

"A couple of years."

"How was it you couldn't earn a living, preaching?"

"It's an age of unfaith," replied the preacher.

"I don't believe it's, an age of unfaith." Douglas puffed slowly on a cigarette. "That is, not like you mean. That Sunday, if you'd given us something we could have set our teeth in, we'd have listened to you. I remember distinctly, I sat down in the back of the room, saying to myself, 'Now if this old-timer has something interesting to say, I won't let the kids in.' But you—excuse me, Mr. Fowler—you just got up and bleated like a Montana sheep-man."

The preacher set the coffee-pot on the stove, straightened himself, and shouted, "I spoke the word of God!"

"I don't know whether there's a God or not. Probably there isn't any. But if there is, I'll bet He never talked foolish threats that a fellow has hard work to understand." Mr. Fowler gasped. "Now wait a moment," protested Douglas. "Don't get mad and throw me out like I did you! I'm a man now, and I tell you, Mr. Fowler, I'm troubled about many things and I want you to let me talk to you."

The beautiful, sympathetic light of the shepherd of souls shone in the clergyman's eyes. "Talk on, my boy! I too am troubled about many things. But not about God. I know Him."

"How do you know Him?"

"By His works, the sun, the stars, the universe, through His holy word, the Bible."

Douglas waved his hands irritably. "Words! Just words! How can they mean anything to a hard-headed man like me? Everything came out of a fire mist. How do you know it was a mind made that fire mist? Why couldn't it have been a—a—Christ, what could it have been?" Douglas paused with lips agape with horror as he gazed on the evil of the universe.

Fowler motioned the young rider to a seat at the table. "God bless our food and give us understanding," he said. Then he served Doug and sat staring thoughtfully at his own coffee-cup. "Were you ever in love?" he finally asked Douglas.

"Yes."

"Did she love you?"

"Not that I can find out!"

"Does she know that you love her?" pursued the minister.

"Yes, I told her so."

"But," said Mr. Fowler, "love isn't something you can put your teeth in. How can she believe you?"

"Because, I'm something she can put her teeth in! Believe me, Mr. Fowler, if God once convinced me He was real, I'd believe anything He told me. Just give me facts. That's all I want."

"The universe is a fact."

"Yes, but the universe being a fact doesn't prove there's any hereafter. Hang it, Mr. Fowler, can't you preachers get it through your heads that what people want you to prove to them is that there is a hereafter? That's all there is to your job. Prove that and you can lead us round by the nose. But if you can't show us that the soul doesn't die, there is no meaning in anything, and we might as well be like we are in Lost Chief."

"What's the matter with Lost Chief?" Mr. Fowler's smile was grim.

"Peter Knight says it's that we have no ethics. Inez Rodman says it's that we don't know beauty when we see it."

"Inez Rodman? O, that woman of the Yellow Canyon! If there were a minister in Lost Chief, she wouldn't be in the Valley."

"O, I don't know! Religion doesn't seem to affect her kind, anywhere. But Peter says we'd ought to have built a church along with the schoolhouse. I don't see myself how the kind of Bible stuff you teach could help a hard living, hard thinking kind of people like us."

"Did you ever read the Bible, Douglas?" asked the preacher.

"I've tried to. If you ask me to read it like it was only more or less true history, I could get away with it. But when you tell me it's the actual word of God and show me a picture of God in long white whiskers and a white robe, why you can't get away with it, that's all. I know that nothing like that ever produced Fire Mesa or Lost Chief Range or—or Judith."

Mr. Fowler groaned. "Douglas, you are blasphemous!"

"I'm not. I'm just unhappy. I think I was meant to be a religious guy. I'm of New England stock and they all depended a lot on religion. But I just can't swallow it."

"And you never will as long as you take the point of view you do. You must wipe your mind clear of all you have read and thought, for God says that unless we become as little children, we cannot believe. Religion is not a matter of knowledge and reason. Religion is a matter of hope and faith."

Douglas sat turning this over in his mind, his yellow hair rumpled, his clear eyes, with the sun wrinkles in the corners, fixed on the far snowy gleam of Lost Chief Range.

"Hope and faith," he repeated softly.

There was a shout from without. "O, you Doug!" and Charleton rode up at a gallop. He stopped before the open door. "I've been trailing you for two hours. I got three horses penned up in a draw and I need your help. Hello, Fowler! What the devil are you doing out here?"

"Come in and have a bite of grub, Falkner," exclaimed the preacher.

"Don't care if I do!" Charleton threw a weary leg across the saddle and dismounted. Douglas, who had finished his meal, returned to the bunk and Charleton took his place.

"Kind of funny to find you and Doug eating together," said Charleton.

"He should have given me a swift kick," agreed Douglas. "Instead, he fed me."

"That's sound religion, isn't it?" asked Mr. Fowler, pouring Charleton a cup of coffee.

"It's sound hospitality, anyhow," replied Charleton.

"Aw, any one would admit Fowler lives up to his faith," expostulated Douglas.

Charleton glanced at the young rider in surprise. "What's happened to you, old trapper?"

"Nothing. Only I wish I had the same religion he's got."

"So's you could herd the sheep?" asked Charleton.

"So's I could have peace," retorted Douglas.

"Peace? What does a kid like you want of peace? Anybody that can't find peace in Lost Chief is a fool."

"I'm no fool!" contradicted Doug, with a growing irritation at Charleton for interrupting his talk with Fowler. "And where is there a peaceful person in Lost Chief?"

"Douglas," said Charleton, "when you are as old as I am you'll realize that Lost Chief is as near heaven as man can hope to get. A poke of salt and a gun on your saddle, a blanket tied behind, a good horse under you, the Persian poet in your pocket, all time and the ranges before you, and what more could mortal man desire?"

"A woman, you've always said before," grunted Douglas.

"I was holding back out of respect to the sky pilot," laughed Charleton. "But since you mentioned it, there's Inez, who's always ready for a trip."

Mr. Fowler shot a quick look at Douglas, who again grunted indifferently and rolled a cigarette.

"Are you and Douglas partners, Falkner?" asked the preacher.

"Once in a while. Why are you herding sheep, Fowler? This herd yours?"

"No. They belong to a Denver man. I'm herding because I couldn't keep a church together."

Charleton nodded. "The day of the church is over."

There was silence during which Charleton devoured beans, Douglas smoked, and the preacher sat with his eyes on the slow moving herd.

Finally Charleton said, "And why do you think something is the matter with Lost Chief, Douglas?"

"In other parts of the country," replied Douglas, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Charleton's dark face, "among people of our kind and breed, a girl like Judith couldn't run with a girl like Inez and be considered decent. And a couple like Jimmy and Little Marion couldn't have a party a week after they were married, the baby attending, and be considered O.K. by the so-called best folks and nothing more said."

Charleton's face grew darkly red. "Who told you that?" he asked in an ugly voice.

"I'm not a fool, as I've told you before. And as you very well know, I've wanted Judith for my wife ever since I was a boy and I haven't wanted her man-handled. And you know, as Jude said once, a girl has about as much chance of staying straight in Lost Chief as a cottontail has with a coyote pack. She's good because, well, because she's Judith, that's all. Now, I tell you when things are as hard as that for a young girl in a beautiful place like our valley, there's something wrong. And look at Little Marion!"

"Leave her out or you'll regret it," snarled Charleton.

"I'm not afraid of you, Charleton," said Douglas, with indifference not at all assumed. "Little Marion is a peach of a girl. She should have been a big influence. She's—she's had a wrong start."

"She's got a fine baby and a good husband."

"I never could argue with you, Charleton. But I know Lost Chief is a bad place for girls. Why, I'll bet there isn't a finer bunch of girls than ours in the world, for looks and nerve and smartness. Peter says he's never seen any that could touch them. And take the stories you read. Where's a heroine like Judith?"

There was something so simple and so earnest in Doug's manner and voice that the red died out of Charleton's face and he said, "I'm with you on that point, Douglas."

"Peter told me once," Douglas went on, "that the Greek race was the finest in the world in their minds and their looks and in every way, until the Greek women got promiscuous. That as soon as that happened the race began to decay. And he said that there isn't a nation in the world any stronger than the virtue of its women."

"How old are you, Douglas?" asked Mr. Fowler.

"Twenty-three. I just want to say this one thing more, then I'm through. When things like that happen to Jimmy and Little Marion, they aren't doing the right thing by Lost Chief, and"—rising with sudden restless fire—"I'd like to see Lost Chief be the kind of place my grandfather Douglas wanted it to be!"

Charleton yawned. "We'd better be moving along."

"Don't go for a minute," pleaded Mr. Fowler. "Douglas was right when he said that the whole world is hungry for a belief in immortality. And as long as the world exists it will have that hunger. And religion is God's answer to that hunger. Civilization without religion is the body without a soul. Religion brings a spiritual peace that man perpetually craves and that riches or women or horses or the hunt never brought and never can bring. At heart, there's not an unhappier man than you, Falkner. Why? Because you have no belief in immortality."

"Great God, Fowler, how can I believe in it when I can't?" shouted Charleton.

"Exactly! How can you?" returned Fowler, deliberately. "No foul-minded man ever yet had an ear for the word of the living God."

Charleton jumped to his feet. "What do you mean, you bastard cleric, you!"

"Aw, come off, Charleton!" exclaimed Douglas. "I've learned more dirt from you than I bet Judith ever has from Inez. Come on, let's go get the horses. Thanks for the grub, Mr. Fowler."

"You are very welcome. Don't go away angry with me, Falkner. If I called you foul-minded, you called me by a foul name."

"I guess we're even," agreed Charleton. "I'm obliged to you for the meal." He swung out of the wagon, mounted his horse and was off, Douglas following.

Charleton had hobbled his capture of horses in a little draw, several miles from the sheep camp. In the excitement and hard work of herding the creatures into the camp and re-hobbling them, there was no opportunity to discuss the visit with the preacher sheep-herder. Nor did Douglas wish to bring the matter up when, long after dark, they sat down to their supper of venison and biscuits. He kept Charleton firmly to the story of his capture of each horse and when this was done and the dishes washed, he went to bed.

But long after Charleton had crawled in beside him, Doug lay awake thinking of Judith and of the preacher. He wondered what influence a man like Fowler would have on a girl like Judith. He wondered if Judith would come out with him to call on the preacher. He thought it highly improbable. And then he thought of Peter and what Peter might have said that day had he and not Charleton interrupted Doug and the preacher. For the thousandth time, he thought of Peter's love for his mother and he wondered how his mother had kept herself fine as Peter said she had. Perhaps she had had some sort of religious faith.

"I wish Grandfather Douglas had put the church up with the schoolhouse," he said to himself. "Maybe it would have saved Judith as well as Scott Parsons."

Then he gasped. An idea of overwhelming importance had come to him. He lay for an instant contemplating it, then he crept from the bunk and the sheep wagon into the open. It was a frosty, star-lit night. The river rushed like black oil, silver cakes of ice grinding above the roar of the current. The Moose was munching on a wisp of alfalfa. Douglas saddled him and led him softly out of hearing of the wagon, then sprang upon his back and put him to the canter.

Two hours later, Douglas was banging on the door frame of Fowler's sheep-wagon.

"It's just me, Douglas Spencer," he replied to the preacher's startled query. "I had to come over to ask you something."

A light flashed through the canvas. Then the door opened. "Come in! Come in! Light the fire while I pull my boots on. This is like the days when I was saving souls and marrying couples."

Douglas quickly had a fire blazing and pulled the coffee-pot forward. He pushed his hat back on his head and the candle-light threw into sharp relief the firm set of his lips. His six-shooter banged on the bench as he sat down and put one spurred boot on the hearth. The preacher perched blinking on the edge of the bunk. Through the canvas came the endless restless movement of myriad sheep.

"Mr. Fowler," said Douglas, "I own some land that came to me from my mother when I was twenty-one. If I build you a little church on it, will you come to Lost Chief and live there and preach? I'll be responsible for your wages."

Fowler's face was inscrutable. "Why do you want me to come, Douglas?"

For the first time, Doug's voice thickened. "I want you to help Lost Chief and to save Judith."

"Tell me about Judith."

Douglas hesitated, then he asked, "Catholics have a thing they call the confessional, haven't they? Well, it's a good idea if the chap they confess to is the right kind. I don't believe a word of your religion and yet I have a feeling that you are the right kind. Judith! She's twenty-one now. I'm six foot one. She's about two inches shorter. Weighs, I guess, fifty pounds lighter. Finest gray eyes you ever saw. Red cheeks. Her mouth used to be too big, but now it's perfect. Rides and breaks a horse better than any man in the Valley, bar none. Loves animals and can tame and train anything. A great reader."

Douglas paused.

"She sounds very attractive. What's the trouble?" asked the preacher.

Douglas twisted his hands together. "You know who Inez Rodman is. Well, she is Jude's best friend! And she has formed all of Judith's ideas about love and marriage."

"Yet you say Judith is straight?"

"She sure-gawd is! But how can it last? She's restless and discontented and Inez is brilliant, feeds Judith's mind."

"Has her mother any influence over her?"

"None at all."

"How about her father?" asked the preacher.

"Of course, he's only her foster-father. She likes him and she hates him. He certainly couldn't help her."

"And you are sure there is no hope in Judith's mother?"

"O she's just broken, like a patient fool horse. Good as gold, you know, but with about as much influence over Jude as a kitten. Judith hasn't any one to tie to, not any one. Peter is all right but he jaws too much. She hasn't any one."

"Doesn't she care for you?"

"She says she's fond of me. Fond of me! I'd rather she hated me. I'd as soon have a dish of cold mush from a woman like Jude, as fondness."

"And do you think I could influence Judith?"

"I don't know. But I want you to try. And it isn't all Judith with me. I love Lost Chief. I never want to live anywhere else. And I'd like to see it the kind of a place my grandfather Douglas wanted it to be. No, it honestly isn't all for Judith, though she's the beginning and the end of it."

There was something almost affectionate in the preacher's deep-set eyes as he watched Douglas.

"Do you realize, my boy, what you are asking? When you bring a preacher into Lost Chief, you are going to rouse an antagonism against yourself that will astound you. These people are of New England stock. There is no more intelligent stock in America, nor stock that is more conceited, more narrow, more obstinate, nor more ruthless. And the farther a New Englander gets from religion, the more brutal his virtues become. If you take me into Lost Chief, you are going to start a depth of strife of which we cannot foresee the end."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Douglas. He rested his chin on his palm and eyed the glowing stove thoughtfully. "I guess you are right," finally; "nothing makes Lost Chief folks so mad as to have some one hint they aren't perfect." Then he chuckled. "It'll be a real man's fight. I wonder what Jude will say! Are you afraid, Mr. Fowler?"

"Afraid? Yes! I'm not as young as I was once and I am not over-anxious for such a struggle. But this thing isn't in my hands. If ever the Almighty showed Himself a directing force, He is showing it here. This is what He ordained from the day you drove me out of the schoolhouse. Do you remember what I said to you?"

"You quoted the Bible, I think. I don't remember what it was."

"I said, 'Ye shall find no place to repent you, though ye seek for it with tears.'"

Douglas murmured the words over to himself. His face worked a little. "It's true! It's the living truth!" he exclaimed unevenly. "Not that I've got anything to repent—" he hesitated. "What is repentance? What is life? Where is God, if there is a God? What does it all mean, anyhow?"

The preacher said slowly, "'There is a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will.' That's what it all means. When shall you be ready for me, Douglas?"

"I think the fall would be best. Suppose we say right after the round-up. I'll look for you on the twentieth of September."

"That will suit me. I can then give my boss ample notice."

"What pay will you want, Mr. Fowler?"

"Just enough to feed and clothe me. We'll arrange that after we get a church established."

Douglas rose with a broad grin. "I sure-gawd have let myself in for something now," he said. "But I'll take care of you, Mr. Fowler."

"All right, young Moses," returned the preacher, smiling into Doug's eager face. "Good-night."

Charleton was still sound asleep when Douglas at dawn lay down beside him and slipped into dreamless slumber.



CHAPTER XI

THE LOG CHAPEL

"Don't take any responsibility that you don't have to. That's my idea of a happy life."

—Young Jeff

By eight o'clock the next morning they had broken camp and had started homeward, with their kicking, squealing herd of wild horses. The little black mare alone led docilely. It was a difficult trip back to the valley and Douglas was grateful for this, for it kept Charleton from airing the cynical comments Douglas knew he was evolving in regard to the preacher. And Douglas was filled with a new purposefulness that was almost happiness. He did not want Charleton to obtrude himself upon this new-found content.

They reached Lost Chief late one afternoon and Douglas found himself and the trembling mare at home in time for supper. The family came out to the corral to examine the prize.

"She's got some mighty good points," said John; "but I doubt if you'll ever be able to do anything with her. She's wild. And she'll die of homesickness for the range. Once in a while you see 'em like that."

"She has an intelligent eye." Judith was going over the horse eagerly.

Douglas smiled a little. The range horse, with its slender, hard-muscled beauty, was no finer drawn than Judith circling carefully about the corral, the wind whipping her black hair across her thin, vivid face.

"I don't believe she'll eat with us all watching her," said Mary. "Let's go in to our own supper."

"She'll have to eat pretty soon or give up." Douglas followed Judith into the kitchen. "She hasn't eaten a pound since I caught her."

"Poor little thing!" exclaimed Judith.

At supper Douglas gave the details of the hunt, which were greeted by the family with considerable hilarity.

"One no-account horse to show for a week's hard work!" laughed John.

But Douglas was not perturbed.

"I don't mind," he said. "Wild horses was the least of what I went after and, as it turned out, the least of what I got. I met Mr. Fowler."

"The old preacher?" exclaimed Judith. "Where was he?"

"He starved out at preaching and is herding sheep down in the Green Thimble country. He fed Charleton and me and we had a long talk."

"You had nerve to eat with him after what you did to him!" John was grinning.

"I felt that way myself," agreed Douglas. "But he didn't hold a grudge against me. He's not that kind. And I think he was so lonely he'd have been glad to feed the Old Nick himself."

"Who is he herding for?" asked Mary.

"Some one in Denver. He's going to give it up in the fall."

"What for? Got a church?" John was still grinning.

Douglas nodded slowly. "Yes, he's got a church."

"Did he tell you where?" asked Mary.

"Yes; it's in Lost Chief," replied Douglas.

"Lost Chief!" roared John. "What are you giving us?"

"I'm giving it to you straight. I asked him if he would come if I'd build him a little church up on my part of the ranch and he said he would."

There was a stunned silence while the audience of three considered this reply. Judith eyed Doug intently, then said, "I bite! What is the joke, Douglas?"

"No joke. I asked him to come. I want to hear what he has to say."

"What did Charleton say about it?" asked Mary.

"Charleton doesn't know. I certainly wouldn't give him a chance to spoil the trip." Douglas tossed the thick yellow hair from his forehead and waited for his father's comment. He could not recall ever having carried on a more difficult conversation than this. There were beads of sweat on his upper lip. Old Fowler had warned him of the antagonism he would meet. And here it was. The air was black with it before a hundred words had been spoken.

John scratched his head. "You mean you actually asked that old fool to come here and preach in Lost Chief?"

Douglas nodded over a piece of pie. "Only," he added, "he's not a fool. Far from it. We may not agree with him, but he's a wise man. A very wise old man."

"And you are going to build a church for him?" John went on.

Again Douglas nodded.

"Are you plumb loco?" John's voice began to rise.

Douglas' color was deepening but he had himself well in hand. "Maybe I am loco. But it can't hurt any one to have Fowler here, can it?"

"I guess he won't stay long enough to do any actual harm!" Judith laughed.

"He's going to stay quite a spell," returned Doug. "I'm going to see that he does."

"But everybody will make fun of him and of you too," volunteered Mary.

"Probably," agreed Douglas. "But even at that I doubt if they have as much fun as I do. My sense of humor is my strong point!"

"Huh!" sniffed Judith. "You'll need more than what you have, Douglas, in this campaign."

"Look here, Doug," urged his father with an obvious effort to be patient, "just what is the joke?"

"Now listen, Dad! It's not a joke. I'm in deadly earnest. I haven't got a particle of religion in me but I'm interested in that line of talk to see if I can discover what other folks get out of it. Peter Knight is not a fool. He knows the world and he says Lost Chief needs a church. All right, it's going to have one."

"Peter Knight is some advocate, all right!" growled John. "He's always saying he had a religious up-bringing, and look at him! Fourth-class postmaster in a cow valley!"

"I don't suppose his religious up-bringing had a thing to do with that," said Douglas.

"Then what's the good of a religion?" John's voice was triumphant. Douglas said nothing and his father went on. "You'll be the laughing-stock of the Valley. You can let on you won't care, but I know you will."

"Yes, I'll care," admitted Douglas. "But that can't be helped. It seems to be a part of the game."

"Well, he can't come to this house!" roared John. "I wouldn't have one of that breed on the place. Mind you keep him off this ranch, Doug."

"I expected you to say that." Douglas' jaw was set. "That's why I plan to build him a cabin up on my section. Grandfather's old cabin isn't worth fixing up."

He did not look at Judith as he spoke. Had he done so he would have been puzzled by the wistfulness in her eyes.

"I sure wonder, Doug," said John irritably, "where you get your crazy notions!"

"He's exactly like his grandfather Douglas!" exclaimed Mary.

"His grandfather Douglas!" cried John. "Why, the old man would kick the stones off his grave if he knew what his grandson was up to. He used to boast that he came West just to get rid of the Presbyterians and the Allopaths. Nothing he hated like a sky pilot!"

Douglas rose and shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said, "if I'm as popular with the rest of the Valley as I am with my family, I'm liable to have my head turned before this thing is over," and he went out to attend to his chores.

As he paused by the corral fence to watch the little wild horse standing motionless over the untasted hay, Judith joined him.

"Looks as if Dad might be right about her," he said.

"I'd like to try my hand at her, Douglas." Judith's voice was eager.

"You may have her, Jude. I was hoping to bring you in two or three, but Fate said otherwise."

"I'm much obliged to you, Douglas," said Judith soberly. "You are always mighty generous—" She hesitated for a moment. "I wish you weren't going in for this thing with the preacher, Doug."

"O well, let's drop the matter!" said Douglas wearily, and without a word further Judith turned away.

The next morning at breakfast, John was irritable and would not let the subject of Fowler's coming rest.

"What did Charleton say?" he asked.

"Charleton doesn't know," replied Douglas, patiently. "He wasn't there when I talked it over with the preacher."

"I'll bet he wasn't or you never would have gotten away with it," growled John.

"Sure! I'm a nervous man about Charleton," grinned Douglas. "Come now, Dad! Why should you be sore at the idea?"

"Lots of reasons! I hate a man who thinks he's enough superior to me to tell me how to behave. And I feel sore as a pup that my son should be bringing such a man into the Valley. All the folks will say you are criticizing them. I'm not going to let you do it, Douglas!"

Douglas gave a short laugh, which was echoed by Judith.

John grew red. "My father would have thrashed me when I was a grown man if I'd laughed at him like that!"

"O well, look at the man he was!" chuckled Judith.

"Don't you speak that way to me!" roared John. "The children of this generation certainly are a bad lot! But one thing you two will remember. I'm master of this house and as long as you stay here you'll obey me! And you just let me hear you telling anybody, Doug, of your crazy plan and you'll learn for the first time what I am!"

"Then you won't help me put up my buildings?" asked Douglas.

"Not for the use of any fool preacher!" shouted his father.

Douglas lighted a cigarette and went out. For the first time a sense of disappointment marred the beauty of the plan he had perfected with the preacher. He realized now that he had counted on Judith's being interested even were she antagonistic. But she was indifferent. He would have preferred that she be resentful like his father. There was nothing tangible there to struggle against. One could neither fight nor urge indifference. Then he set his jaws. Judith should see! He knew whither he was going now. He had found the fine straight line of which Peter had spoken, long ago, and he would hew to it, at whatever cost. And Judith could not, must not fail him. If only he knew the things she really thought! His jaw was still set as he watched the little wild mare, now ceaselessly circling the corral fence, her face to the hills. Judith crossed to the bars and Douglas turned away.

There still was too much frost in the ground for spring work on the ranch and it would be a month before the cattle could be driven up into the Reserve. It was during this month that Douglas had planned to put up two cabins on his ranch, one for the church, the other for himself and Fowler to occupy. He had accumulated a sufficient number of logs to more than supply his needs and he had counted on his father's help in erecting the buildings. He wondered now if Peter would help him, and old Johnny Brown. That afternoon he rode down to the post-office.

Peter was breathlessly interested. "You'd better keep it quiet, Doug, till the old man gets here," he said. "If you get old Johnny up there, don't give him an inkling."

Douglas nodded. "Then I can count on you, Peter?"

The postmaster eyed the young rider keenly. John Spencer had never been the man his son had grown to be!

"Do you mean count on me for the plan or the cabins?" asked Peter.

"Both!"

"Yes, you can, Douglas! I don't know whether the plan is a good one or not. But I'm delighted to see you taking a step like this. It's gratifying to me, Doug. It is indeed; and I know your mother would have been delighted." Peter's voice broke, and he said harshly, "Now, get along, Doug. I've got to sort the mail."

For the first time that day, Douglas' lips wore a little smile. He whistled to Prince, who had grown too lazy of late to propitiate Sister as he had in his younger days and who was keeping that growling old Amazon at her distance by snapping at her viciously. Prince lunged over to Pard's heels and Doug started off for his call on Johnny Brown.

"I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" asked old Johnny. "It's been a gregus long time and I'm only half-muscled as well as half-witted now. But I'll come. I'd help you build a cabin in hell if you wanted me to. Honest, I would, Doug."

Douglas did not laugh. "Thanks, Johnny! Then I'll look for you to-morrow."

"I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" repeated the old fellow, and he was still deponing when Douglas started homeward.

Peter inveigled Young Jeff into taking the post-office for a couple of weeks. Post-office keeping did not accord at all with the ideas of pleasant living of the native-born of Lost Chief. Undoubtedly if Peter had not offered his services year after year there would have been, a great part of the time, no post-office in the Valley. But Peter had means of his own with which to piece out the salary and for some inscrutable reason he clung to the sort of prestige he enjoyed in the community as a Federal employee. His friends always protested violently at substituting for him, but always gave in, fearful lest Peter carry out his threat of giving up the job. So he appeared at Douglas' ranch, bright and early, bringing a graphic account of Young Jeff's despair over a pile of second-class mail.

Lost Chief Creek bordered one edge of Douglas' acres. Dead Line Peak pushed an abrupt shoulder into the stream at the northwest corner. Below this shoulder lay a grove of silvery aspens and of blue spruce, dripping with great bronze cones. Just above the flood line of the creek, Douglas trimmed out enough trees from the grove to give elbow-room for the cabins and corrals. By the end of Peter's two weeks, the heaviest part of the building had been done.

On the last day of the fortnight—it had been a very pleasant fortnight for Peter—he and Douglas dawdled long over their noon meal while old Johnny began the work he loved, the chinking of the log walls. Leaning against a log at the edge of the clearing, Lost Chief Valley sloped below them. A blue line of smoke rose from the Spencer chimney.

"Dad is sure sore at me this time," said Douglas. "He's hardly spoken to me for a week."

"About Fowler, I suppose."

"Yes. He feels that I am disgracing him. He's sure I'm going to turn religious. I can't make him believe that that is not why I'm bringing Fowler in."

"What is your real reason, Doug?" asked Peter, taking a huge bite of cold fried beef.

"I don't want to turn religious. I don't want to be anything that's queer or unreasonable. What I want is to get to believe—in a future life."

Peter laughed. "Isn't that religion?"

"I don't think so! You can believe in immortality without believing in miracles and that Eve was made out of a man's rib, and without being goody-goody."

Peter made no comment for a moment. He finished his beef and lighted his pipe before he said, "I have an idea that the kind of a mind that can believe in the soul's floating around in space can swallow the rib story without much choking. What I want to see in Lost Chief is the kind of ethics that Christ taught."

"Ethics! Ethics!" scoffed the younger man. "Who gives a hang about ethics if they aren't going to help us live again? You can bet I don't! Ethics may do for a cold-blooded guy like you, Peter. But me! I want something as big and as real and as warm-looking as Fire Mesa."

"Poor old Fowler!" groaned Peter.

Douglas glanced at the postmaster questioningly; then his eyes wandered back toward the ranch house. A tiny figure in blue leaped on a horse and was off at a gallop.

"Judith's going to Inez' place," said Douglas.

"She sees too much of Inez!" Peter scowled. "Her mind is getting exactly Inez' twist to it."

"There was a time when you told me Inez could give Judith good advice." Doug's voice was bitter.

"So she could. But I never said Inez and Jude should be buddies, did I?"

Douglas threw his cigarette into the creek and rolled over on his face with a groan. "I'm sick of worrying about it!" he said.

"Does she still talk about going the round of the rodeos with a string of buckers?"

"No. She says that was just kid stuff. She has an idea now she'll breed thoroughbred horses." Douglas turned over on his back and gazed up into the heavens, where an eagle hung, motionless.

"Lord! Breeding horses is no work for Jude!" cried Peter.

Douglas did not reply. Peter eyed the young man's clean, hawk-like profile and went on. "What does she say about you and Fowler?"

"She laughs at me."

"Do you think you can get her in touch with Fowler?"

Douglas sat up with a jerk. "Get her in touch with him? Say, what do you think I'm bringing that sky pilot in here for? You can bet she'll get in touch with him! I'll show that girl I haven't played all my cards yet!"

Peter stared long and unblinkingly at Douglas. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered and filled his pipe again.

The summer passed for Douglas with extraordinary rapidity. Profiting by the experience of the previous winter, every rancher put in as heavy a grain crop as he could handle and there was little leisure in the Valley during July and August. Lost Chief was, of course, immensely interested in Doug's building operations. He was accused of planning to be married and conjecture ran rife. When he began work in the interior of the log chapel, he hung burlap bags over the windows and locked the doors. But his precautions were futile. By the middle of June, every ranch in the valley was talking about Douglas Spencer's motion-picture hall and wondered why he was building it so far from the center of the community. The truth came out in an entirely unexpected manner.

About a week before he expected the preacher, Douglas rode down in the evening for his mail. Peter had gone to Mountain City on a rare visit and Young Jeff was acting as postmaster again. Scott Parsons was helping him sort the mail and it was Scott who fell upon a battered suitcase, tied with frayed rope.

"What's this mess?" he exclaimed. "Let's see this tag." He shoved the suitcase close to the lamp. "'The Rev. Mr. James Fowler. Care of Douglas Spencer.'" Scott looked up with an oath. "What do you know about this!" he gasped.

Douglas, standing with his back to the cold stove, said nothing.

Young Jeff dropped the handful of letters he was distributing, and examined the tag for himself. "Old Fowler, eh? Thought he was dead long ago. What's he coming to see you for, Doug? Going to preach—" He paused and his eyes grew round. "Doug's motion-picture theater! The sky pilot! That cabin is a church!"

Scott gave a gasp, followed by a shout of laughter. "How about it, Doug?"

Douglas grinned.

"What are you doing, Douglas? Starting a ranch for broken-down sky pilots?" asked Young Jeff.

Still Douglas made no reply. He strode over to the table and put his hand on the suitcase.

"Hold on!" protested Scott. "Answer a few questions. What are you trying to put over on us, Douglas?"

"You'll know, pretty soon," answered Doug.

"Well, you always were loco but I never thought you'd get real dangerous, till now!" exclaimed Young Jeff. "Listen, don't try to put that guy over on us, Doug!"

Scott stood eying Douglas with a mixture of curiosity and impatience in his hard eyes. He had just parted his lips to speak when the door opened and Charleton and Jimmy came in.

"Look at here, Charleton!" roared Young Jeff. "Look at the address on this bag!"

The two newcomers scrutinized the tag. "Well," said Jimmy, "I'll be everlastingly dehorned, vaccinated and branded!"

Charleton's mouth twisted. "So the old fool got you, Doug! You've got hard nerve, that's all I have to say!"

"Nerve! I'll say so!" cried Scott. "What's the great idea, Doug? Going to bring Lost Chief up to your level, huh?"

Douglas' cheeks were burning. He jerked the suitcase from the table and started for the door.

"Believe me, cowman," called Scott after him, "you and the sky pilot have laid out a course of trouble for yourselves."

Douglas paused with his hand on the latch. "You are a pack of coyotes!" he said and he slammed the door after himself.

And so the secret was out! Nothing that had occurred in the Valley for years had stirred the ranchers so deeply. There was much joking and derisive laughter but beneath this was a sense of resentment that grew day by day. Grandma Brown, Peter of course, and Frank Day were sympathetic to the idea. Some of the older women wondered if it might not be a good thing in giving the young fry a place to go on Sundays. But the young fry, with huge enjoyment not untinged with malice, planned to run the preacher out of the Valley in short order and to mete out such treatment to Douglas as would prevent his making a like fool of himself again.

Douglas had set up housekeeping in the new cabin now, and on the night before he expected Mr. Fowler, Judith rode up to see his new home. Old Johnny had gone down to the post-office and Douglas finished his supper and was sitting on the doorstep when Judith galloped up, with the Wolf Cub under the heels of her mount.

"This is my first real ride on the little wild mare," she said, dropping from the saddle.

"Has she gotten over her homesickness, yet?" asked Douglas.

"I think so. At least, she follows me around about as close as Wolf Cub does."

"You are a wonder, Judith! I wish you thought as much of me as you do of your horses and dog."

"You wouldn't let me train you, Doug," said Judith plaintively.

Douglas laughed. "A whole lot you'd think of a man you could train!"

Judith laughed, too, sitting down on the step beside Douglas. For a moment she was silent, then she said softly: "How you must love it up here!"

"I do! But I'll be glad when old Johnny can be with me all the time. I don't like this bachelor stuff."

"You and Scott ought to join forces," Judith's voice was mischievous. "By the way, Scott's heard of a standard bred mare he can get me for five hundred dollars."

"I wouldn't trust Scott to pick a horse for me," grunted Douglas.

"And you'd be foolish if you did," agreed Judith. "But he'll play fair enough with me."

"He will if it's to his interest to do so. If he can make anything off you by being crooked, he'll be crooked. But I suppose there's no use in me warning you. Have you got the money for the mare?"

"Only half of it. All the stock I've been able to raise and sell in the last five years amounts to about two hundred and fifty-six dollars."

"I'll lend you the rest," offered Douglas.

"Dad said he'd let me have it, and so did Inez. But I'd rather borrow from you."

Douglas flushed with pleasure. "Had you, Judith? Tell me why!"

"I don't like to be under obligations to Dad; and Inez' money—well, I don't feel keen about her money. As for you—Doug, it's queer, but I'd just as soon ask you for anything. I don't know whether it's a compliment to you or not."

"I consider it a compliment," said Douglas softly. "I had no idea you had that sort of confidence in me."

"O, I'm not such a wild woman that I don't know a real man when I see one, Doug,—even if you are making an idiot of yourself just now! You should have planned to be more tactful about bringing your old sky pilot in here."

"Tactful! What a word!" exclaimed Douglas, "For heaven's sake, Jude, don't you get the idea better than that? This is a matter of—" He hesitated, at a loss for a moment for a word that should tell Judith something of the yearning conflict that obsessed him. "This is a battle," he said finally, "a fight to the finish for—for—" then he blurted out the word that in Lost Chief was taboo—"for souls!" exclaimed Douglas.

Judith looked at him quickly; but to Douglas' vast relief she did not laugh. Instead, her eyes were deep with some emotion he could not name.

"I don't think I understand you, Doug," she said at last. "I couldn't get so worked up over anything that had to do with religion. But I do see that it means a lot to you and I think you're foolish to trust to a man like Fowler to put anything over in this valley for you."

"You don't know my old sky pilot like I do," insisted Doug.

"Yes, you must have got a deep knowledge of him in one night!"

"I sure did!" said Douglas simply.

"You are sure that you realize how bitterly the Valley resents your doing this?"

"Yes. And the Valley had better realize, if it plans trouble, that I'm neither soft, nor easy."

"I just wish you weren't trying to do it," repeated Judith.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Douglas.

"Why, be a first-class rancher, make money, and travel and learn something about life."

"That's what I plan to do. But I want to do more than that. I want to fix Lost Chief so that a couple of kids like you and me don't have to learn all they know about real things from a woman like Inez and a man like Charleton. And if a sky pilot can answer those questions right, why I'm going to have one in here if I have to mount guard on him, day and night. My kids are going to grow up right here in Lost Chief and they aren't going round like little wild horses when it comes to asking questions about love and death. No, ma'am!"

"Oh! What does old Fowler know about such things?" cried Judith.

"That's what I aim to find out," replied Doug.

Twilight was up on the valley, though Falkner's Peak still glowed crimson in outline, and the Forest Reserve to the east was silver blue, shot with lines of flame. The evening star trembled above Fire Mesa. Up on Dead Line Peak behind them, a pack of coyotes barked.

"We miss you down at the house," said Judith suddenly.

Douglas' heart suddenly lifted. There was a sweetness in Judith's voice that he never before had heard there.

"I miss you, Judith! Every moment of the day I'm missing you. The ache for you in my heart is as much a part of my life as my very heart-throbs."

"I wish you wouldn't, Douglas! I wish you wouldn't! I'm not ready to talk of those things!"

"What do you mean, Judith?"

"I mean that I don't see love as you see it; that even if I did care for any one, I'm not ready to give way to it."

She paused as if she too were struggling to express the inarticulate. "O, I am so disappointed in life! It isn't at all what I thought it would be! People aren't what I dreamed they were. Everything is hard and rough and difficult. I don't like life a bit!"

"I don't like it as it is, either," agreed Douglas. "That's why I'm trying to change it, here in Lost Chief. But I wouldn't change my love for you, no matter how it hurts. That's the one beautiful thing in Lost Chief and in me."

He turned to the face, so dimly rebellious, so vaguely sweet in the dark, and his whole soul was in his steady deep voice.

"Judith, won't you marry me? You are my whole life!"

Judith's voice rose passionately. "Don't talk about it! Don't! I don't believe in marriage. I tell you I don't, Douglas!"

"Why not?"

"I've told you again and again. Marriage is too hard on a woman. Why should I want to cook your meals and darn your socks and wash your clothes for you the rest of my life? Yes, and listen to you swear and lay down the law and spit tobacco juice? And when I'm a little older and beginning to get knotty with the hard work, see you take notice of girls who are younger and prettier than I. No, Doug!"

"O, love isn't like that!" exclaimed Douglas vehemently.

"My love won't be like that, I can tell you!" The excitement still was evident in Judith's voice. "I'm not going to kill it, by marrying."

"I wish that Inez were dead and in hell!" cried Douglas, with such an accumulation of bitterness in his voice that Judith drew a quick breath. "And I wish I could quit loving you! I tried my best to, all the time I was at Charleton's. But I can't! It just grows as I grow and every day it's a bigger pain and trouble to me. I wish I could have peace!"

"I wish I could have it myself!" ejaculated the girl. She rose suddenly. "I'm so tired of this burning struggle. But I won't settle down to being an old horse on a ranch. I will do something that gives me a chance to use my brain. I will!"

She leaped into the saddle.

Douglas seized the mare's bridle. "Just what do you mean by being tired of a burning struggle?" he demanded tensely. "Are you caring for somebody, Jude?"

"Let me go, Douglas," said Judith.

For a moment, the two stared at each other in the fading light, then Douglas released the bridle and Judith galloped away.

He stood very still for a long time, gazing down the dim line of the trail. How lonely, how very lonely Judith appeared to be! How lonely, for that matter, were most people, pondering in the solitude of their own minds on all the matters of life that really counted. And how utterly impossible it seemed to be for him and Judith to cross the threshold of each other's reticences. More difficult perhaps for Judith than for him. That, perhaps, was because she did not love him. Or perhaps, because she was not capable of feeling sympathy for spiritual hunger. But he put aside this thought, impatiently. No one could have lived with Judith and not have learned that below her tempestuous nature must be deeps greater than even she herself had realized. Why, O why, could he never have more than a glimpse of those deeps! Evidently something more than love was demanded as a password.

He had been able, quickly enough, at her request to formulate his own demands on life. What were Judith's demands? Were they only for a love that should be unhampered by the ordinary facts of life? He knew that this could not be so. Yet, he had grown up with Judith, had asked her to marry him, and had no idea of what her actual mental and spiritual needs might be. Perhaps they were such that he never could satisfy them. Perhaps Judith recognized this. Of course, she recognized it!—as a bitter memory of her picture of marriage in Lost Chief returned to him. With a groan he bowed his head against the smooth trunk of an aspen. How utterly inexplicable women were! How bitter and how beautiful was this scourging fire, called love!



CHAPTER XII

THE FIRST SERMON

"I ain't able to think. That's why I'm pretty generally happy."

—Old Johnny Brown.

By dawn the next morning Douglas was half-way up the trail to the Pass. He did not know at what hour the preacher would arrive, but he did not propose that the old man should enter Lost Chief without his protection. When he reached the crest, he unsaddled the Moose and settled himself against a gigantic jade rock beside the trail and prepared to wait patiently.

The sun lifted slowly over the unspeakable glory of the ranges and poured its glory down upon the Pass, then swung westward, leaving a chill shadow beside the rock where Douglas was camping. It was mid-afternoon when the stage came through from the half-way house. Old Johnny Brown was driving.

As he pulled up the horses for a rest, he saw Douglas and smiled delightedly.

"Waiting for me, Douglas?"

Douglas shook his head. "I came up to meet a friend, Johnny."

The little old man stared at Douglas; then he said fretfully, "I don't see why Grandma Brown had to go and make me drive the gregus old stage for a week. I deponed to her that I had to get up there and take care of you. When that preacher comes, you'll need me, Doug. There's lots of trouble brewing, boy."

"What kind, Johnny?"

"They always shut up and look rejus when I come round. But I know enough to sabez that bunch even if I am a half-wit."

"I'm not so sure you are a half-wit, Johnny," said Douglas sincerely.

The old man's face brightened. "That's just the way I feel about it too, Douglas. You're the only person in the Valley understands me. You could have my shirt, Doug."

Douglas nodded. "You get through with the stage as soon as you can, Johnny. Tell Grandma I expect you on Monday."

Johnny clucked firmly at his team. "I'll be there. Nothing can't propone me," and he was gone in a cloud of dust.

It was an hour later that the preacher rounded the curve to the crest. Douglas threw the saddle on the Moose and Fowler pulled up his bony blue roan in surprise. He was thinner and grayer than ever and his blue jumper was patched with pieces of burlap. But his eyes were bright as he shook hands with Douglas.

"I'm the Committee on Welcome!" said the young rider.

"How long have you been waiting for me, Douglas?" asked Fowler.

"Since daybreak. I couldn't be sure when you'd come. And I didn't want you to come into Lost Chief alone."

"Are you expecting trouble immediately?" asked the preacher.

"Well," replied Douglas frankly, "the folks are just about as enthusiastic as if I were bringing a Mormon into the Valley. And I just don't aim to give them a chance to start anything till we get a little bit settled."

The old man's jaw set, under his beard. "Humph! They'll find the Lord and me both ready for them. I have an idea they are going to be surprised before they are through with this."

Douglas nodded and they rode down into the Valley. When they trotted past the post-office, the usual group was gathered on the steps. Doug and the preacher nodded but did not draw rein. Old Sister came out sedately and growled at Prince, but Peter did not leave the doorstep.

"What's your hurry, old-timers?" shouted Jimmy Day.

"A long way to go," called Douglas.

"Your hazer needs a shave!" said some one else.

"We'll do it for him Sunday!" cried another voice.

"Oil up your cannon, Doug," laughed Charleton, "and unchain the dogs of war."

Douglas trotted sedately on.

"I wonder why it is! I wonder why!" said Fowler, very real pain in his voice.

"They think we're criticizing them," answered Douglas; adding, with his pleasant grin, "which we are!"

It was dark when they reached Douglas' ranch. Before they had unsaddled, Fowler insisted on lighting a lantern and inspecting the chapel. Douglas, not at all adverse, for he was very proud of this work of his hands, followed the old man in his microscopic inspection of the little building. It was small and dim, with a smell of new cedar. To Douglas, already there was something hallowed about the quiet interior as if somehow the yearning with which he had builded it had given the insensate wood a curious high purposefulness.

Fowler examined the benches and sat for a moment on several of them. He flashed the lantern along the carefully chinked walls, the rose tints of the cedar glowing warmly back at him. He walked slowly up and down the center aisle and paused before the platform, on which was a table and chair. For a long time he stood with one hand on the table. Then he said:

"It's beautiful, Douglas! Beautiful! A chapel for me! Built by a young man that has faith in me. Wonderful! And built with such free-hearted care! For me to preach in! Why, a minister of a great metropolis might well envy me such a gift!"

He paused again, turning the lantern so that the tapestried colors of the walls again flashed forth.

"Stained glass!" half whispered the old man. "Already it has the air of a church. Douglas, we'll consecrate it now."

He knelt before the platform and Douglas bowed his head.

"O God, my Father and my Shepherd," said Fowler, "You have led my wandering steps to this fragrant evidence of a young man's heart. How beautiful it is, O God, and how holy, You know. Help me to keep it so, Heavenly Father, and help me to make Lost Chief find it so. And, O God, put Your great arm about this young man and keep it there until he realizes that it is Your arm supporting him. I thank You, O Everlasting Mercy, for leading me to this resting-place for my soul. Amen."

And it seemed to Douglas, bowing his head in the dusk, that the chapel itself was listening in a brooding peace.

After a moment, the old man rose and led the way out the door, which Douglas locked, then turned the key over to the preacher.

"It's yours, now," he said with a little, embarrassed, laugh. "I'm only the guard."

Fowler put the key carefully into his pocket. "If anything should happen to that chapel, it would break my heart," he said.

"We mustn't let anything happen to it. That's our job," returned Douglas stoutly.

The next morning, Saturday, Douglas left the preacher while he went down to his father's place for his day's work. He was as nervous as a mother with her first baby all day and he galloped the Moose back up the trail long before sunset. When Mr. Fowler waved at him from the door of the cabin, he gave a gusty sigh of relief.

While Doug was cooking the bacon for supper he asked the preacher what was to be the subject of the morrow's sermon.

"I was going to preach on the Golden Rule," replied Mr. Fowler.

"No," said Douglas decidedly. "You give 'em a talk on the hereafter and why you think there is one." He lighted a cigarette and cut more bacon.

"Young man, are you presuming to dictate to me how to preach the word of God?"

"I sure am!" grinning with the cigarette between his white teeth. "I'm in this thing up to my horns and I don't aim to make any false moves that I can help. I've been reading the New Testament this summer. So far, the most I've got out of it is that Christ was the most diplomatic preacher that ever lived. Let's be as diplomatic as we can. What's the use of preaching slush to a lot of sensible, hard-thinking folks who don't believe in anything."

The preacher bit his knuckles and took a turn or two up and down the cabin. Douglas noted with a little sense of pity the extreme thinness of the rounded shoulders under the denim jumper. Douglas dished the bacon and put a loaf of Mary's bread beside the fried potatoes.

"Show us that our souls go marching on like old John Brown's," said the young man, persuasively, "and you'll have all Lost Chief eating out of your hand."

"You talk of faith," cried Fowler impatiently, "as if it were a problem in algebra."

Douglas hesitated. "Maybe I do." His voice suddenly trembled.

Fowler paused as he was about to seat himself at the table. "I hear a horse!" he said.

Douglas went to the door.

"It's just me!" called Grandma Brown's voice. "Come and help me down. I was up to see your mother this afternoon," she went on as Douglas helped her dismount, "and I thought I'd come along up and have a visit with the preacher."

"That's fine!" exclaimed Douglas. "Come in, Grandma. We're just drawing up to the table."

"Good," sighed the old lady; "I'm half starved. Howdy, Mr. Fowler! Haven't had enough of Lost Chief yet, huh?"

The preacher rose and shook hands. "Not yet, Mrs. Brown! Will you draw up?"

The old lady plumped down at the table and Douglas, loaded her plate and poured her a cup of coffee. "The older folks," she said abruptly, "won't make you any trouble. Charleton Falkner and some of his pals will be smarty, but the young fry will sure try to break up every meeting you have."

"The modern youngster is pretty rough!" sighed the preacher.

"Here in Lost Chief," agreed Grandma promptly, "they are the most rough-and-tumble, catch-as-catch-can batch of young coyotes that ever lived. They don't respect God, man, nor the devil. And why should they? That's educated into children, not born into them."

"How do you feel about my coming back, Mrs. Brown?" asked Fowler.

Grandma hesitated; then she said, "I'm too old to be polite, James Fowler. I'm a religious woman, myself, and I've often said we'd ought to have a church in Lost Chief. But it isn't men like you can start a church here. You are too religious and too goody-goody."

The preacher winced. Douglas came to his rescue. "We're going to show Lost Chief that he's not goody-goody."

Grandma shook her head. "I wish you luck, but, with all the nerve in the world, you can't preach to them that won't hear."

"Do you know what deviltry they've planned for to-morrow?" asked Douglas.

Grandma shook her head. "All I know is, Scott Parsons is the leader. He sees a chance to get back at you."

Douglas finished his bacon thoughtfully. "All right," he said finally; "let 'em come. I'm waiting."

"Well," said Grandma briskly, "I didn't come up here to give advice. I wanted a gossip with an old-timer. Mr. Fowler, you was up in Mountain City when that Black Sioux outbreak took place. Did you know Emmy Blake, she that was stolen by old Red Feather?"

"Yes," replied Fowler, with a sudden clearing of his somber face. "I saw her when—" and he plunged into a tale that, matched by one from Grandma, consumed the evening.

At nine o'clock the old lady rose.

"I'll ride down the trail with you," said Douglas.

"You fool!" sniffed the old lady. "Since when have folks begun nursing me over these trails?"

"That's not the point," returned Doug. "I want to see Peter."

"Well, come along, then," conceded Grandma. She pulled on her mackinaw and buttoned it. The nights were very cold.

The next morning, a placard on the post-office door announced to Lost Chief that a meeting would be held in the log chapel on Sunday at two o'clock; and by that hour every soul in Lost Chief capable of moving was packed into the little cabin.

After his talk with Peter, Douglas had changed his program. The postmaster, not the preacher, sat at the table. He wore a black coat over a blue flannel shirt, a coat that Lost Chief never saw except at funerals or weddings. His denim pants were turned up with a deep cuff over his riding-boots. The preacher sat on a chair, just below the platform. Douglas occupied a rear pew where he could keep an eye on Scott Parsons. There was very little talking among the members of the congregation, but much spitting of tobacco juice into the red-hot stove.

Promptly at two o'clock, Peter rose and cleared his throat. "Well, folks, Douglas says he's trying to put into practice some of the stuff I've been preaching to him. So I suppose I'm to blame for this meeting. Now, there isn't anybody can accuse me of being religious."

"A fourth-class postmaster couldn't be religious," remarked Charleton Falkner.

"They always go crazy about the second year of office," volunteered John Spencer.

Everybody laughed, even Peter. Then he went on:

"So when I say I'm going to back Doug up in this experiment you none of you can say it's because I'm pious. It's because I think Lost Chief ought to have a church to help the young people decide the right and wrong of things."

"How come, Peter?" demanded Jimmy Day. "Ain't the young folks round here pleasing to your bachelor eye?"

"To my eye, yes!" answered the postmaster. "Best-looking crowd I ever saw. But to my mind, no! And there isn't one of you over fifteen who doesn't know what I mean when I say it. Now, Doug's idea seems sensible enough to me. He says he'd be happier if he could believe in a life after death. He says if any preacher can prove to him that the soul is immortal, he is willing to play the game so as to win that future if it is proved that you have to follow rules to win it. Folks, if there is anything sissy about that, I'd like to have one of you rear up and say so."

"There isn't a preacher in the world can prove that," said Mrs. Falkner. "If there was, he'd be greater than Christ."

"Didn't Christ prove it?" cried Mr. Fowler quickly.

"No!" replied Mrs. Falkner. "He believed it Himself and He lived like He believed it, but He didn't prove it."

Fowler jumped to his feet. "He proved it over and over; by fulfilling the prophecies, by the miracles He performed and by returning after death."

"How do you know He returned after death?" asked Mrs. Falkner.

"The Bible says so."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Falkner. "The Bible is just history, most of it hearsay. And I read in the Atlantic the other day that Napoleon said that history was just a lie agreed upon."

"This is blasphemy!" shouted Mr. Fowler. "This is—"

"Wait!" Peter interrupted with a firm hand. "Every one is to say what they decently please. You'll never get anywhere in this valley, if you show yourself shocked by anything anybody says."

"I don't want to shock the preacher, Peter,"—Mrs. Falkner's beautiful face was wistful—"I'd like to have his faith. I sure-gawd would! But! I just want to make him see that to folks like us in Lost Chief who read and think and look at these hills a lot, the Bible never could prove a hereafter to us."

"But the Bible is the inspired word of God," insisted Fowler.

"Who says so?" asked Mrs. Falkner.

"The Bible."

"Good heavens, isn't that childish?" she appealed to the congregation. "Seems to me only God could prove that and we don't even know He exists."

There was silence in the room. Douglas, looking over the backs of many familiar heads, felt a curious yearning affection for these neighbors who so far had met his experiment so kindly. Then his eyes turned to the aspens without the window and beyond these to the far red clouds over Fire Mesa. The first snow of the season was beginning to sift through the trees. He wished that he had the courage to ask Mrs. Falkner what she thought of Inez' poem:

A fire mist and a planet, A crystal and a cell—

but he would rather have cut out his tongue than repeat the verse before this audience.

Mr. Fowler was running his fingers through his beard, glancing hesitatingly from Douglas to Peter.

"Well, is it the sense of this meeting," asked the postmaster, "to let the preacher tell us how he feels about it?"

"Go to it, old wrangler," said Charleton. "I can spout the Persian Poet to 'em if you run short of Bible stuff."

"Baa—a—a!" bleated a small boy in the back of the room.

"I'm going to give the first young one that makes a disturbance a dose of aspen switch," said Grandma Brown.

There was a general chuckle that quieted as Mr. Fowler began to speak.

"Religion doesn't rest on proof. It rests on Faith. And faith is something every human being possesses. If you plant a seed, you have faith that it will produce a plant. No power of yours can bring the plant. But you have faith—in what?—that the plant will appear. Every night that you go to bed you believe that a new day will come. You cannot bring that day but you have absolute faith that to-morrow will be brought by—what? The stars come nightly to the sky, the moon and the earth whirl in their appointed places. You have absolute confidence that they will continue to float in the heavens. On what do you place that confidence?

"Friends, I cannot prove to you that there is a God. But if you will be patient with me, I will give you a faith that asks no proof." He opened his Bible and began to read.

"And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall never hunger and he that believeth in me shall never thirst....

"If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink. He that believeth in me, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water....

"He that believeth in me, believeth not in me but in Him that sent me. And he that seeth me, seeth Him that sent me. I come a light unto the world, that whosoever believeth in me should not abide in darkness.

"I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."

Mr. Fowler paused and closed the book.

"Words!" said Charleton. "Just poetry!"

"You are speaking of the living words of the Almighty!" shouted the preacher. "You—" But he was interrupted. There was a sudden unearthly uproar of dogs without. The door burst open and old Sister, howling at the top of her lungs, bolted straight up the aisle to Peter. A can was tied to her tail. Prince, similarly adorned, and ably seconding his old friend's outcry, followed her. Several cats, all dragging tin cans, were flung spitting and yowling through a window.

Chaos reigned. Douglas seized Prince. Peter grabbed Sister. A dozen people took after the cats. They were not as easy to capture as the dogs; and during the progress of the chase, a sudden noxious odor filled the room. Douglas saw a thick black vapor rising from a bubbling mess on the top of the stove. The congregation bolted, leaving the field to one lone cat who climbed the wall to the window and disappeared with a final yowl.

There was no attempt to bring the audience back, and shortly the trail was dotted with riders. But that evening as he sat alone with Douglas, the preacher was not at all sad.

"You were right," he said to the young man, "in having Peter open the meeting. The older people were interested. No doubt they were interested; and in spite of the mischief that broke us up, I feel as if a start had been made. It's a rarely intelligent group of people. I admit that."

Douglas nodded. "We'll wear 'em down. See if we don't. The kids certainly put it over on me. I was feeling safe as long as I could watch Scott and Jimmy, and they had Grandma Brown's grandson doing the work for them." He chuckled and shook his head. "I just can't head them off on that kind of work. All we can do, as I say, is to wear them down. And maybe we can win Judith and one or two of the others, right soon."

Mr. Fowler sighed. "We can certainly interest some of the older people for a while with a discussion like we had this afternoon. But not the young people. Beauty and emotion and mystery must make the religious appeal to young folks. A church can't exist as a debating society."

Douglas turned this over in his mind, finally focussing his thoughts on Inez; she who loved beauty and dragged her emotions in the mire.

"Mr. Fowler," he said finally, "I'll bet Inez would have been a very religious person if she'd been started with the beauty and emotion and mystery!"

"That's a queer thing to say!" The preacher's voice was a little resentful.

Douglas went on as if he had not heard. "But you can't get Judith that way. She hasn't any emotions except temper and a sense of humor!"

"There isn't a woman born who isn't full of emotion," said Mr. Fowler, dryly. "And the deeper they conceal it, the more they have. I think I'll go to bed, Douglas. I feel as if I'd come through a hard day."

"Same here," agreed Douglas, and shortly the cabin was in darkness.

For a day or so the preacher stayed quietly in and about the cabin. He swept the chapel and cleaned out the stove and polished the windows and each day made a little fire. Douglas frequently found him there at night, on his knees. At least once a day he said, "It was a wonderful thing, Doug, for a young man like you to build me this little chapel, in my old age." He insisted on grace before meals and a chapter aloud from the Bible before bed. Douglas was embarrassed but entirely acquiescent. Mr. Fowler was to have a free hand with his spiritual development.

About the middle of the week, Judith rode down to the post-office with Douglas. "Well, how's the sky pilot and his disciple?" she asked.

"I believe the old boy is almost happy," replied Douglas. "He thinks that little old church I built is pretty fine."

"Inez says it looks like a big cow stable."

"That's nice of Inez. Why didn't she tell me how to make it better looking?"

"What does Inez care about it? Honest, Doug, you are making an awful fool of yourself. A man like Fowler can't preach to us."

"Why, he never had a chance to preach here yet!" exclaimed Douglas. "And, what do you expect in a place like Lost Chief, a ten-thousand-dollar-a-year sky pilot? Besides, I don't want preaching from him. I want just the one thing like Peter said. And Fowler has that in him just as strong as the highest paid preacher in the world. Give him a show, Judith. Come up, every Sunday. You might back me that much."

"And have everybody in the crowd laughing at me like they are at you? I won't do anything against the old man, Douglas, for your sake. But that's all I'll promise."

"I'm not going to let you off that easy, Jude. Come up to supper to-night. I won't let him talk religion. Honest, he's as interesting as a book when he gets to telling some of his experiences."

Judith shook her head. "I'd rather stay at home with 'Pendennis.'"

"If I get Inez to come, will you?" urged Douglas.

Judith grinned impishly. "Yes, I'd come with Inez."

They returned from the post-office via the west trail and stopped at Inez' place. She was eating a belated dinner in her slatternly kitchen, and waved a hospitable hand over the table.

"Thanks, no," said Doug. "I just stopped by to see if you and Judith wouldn't come up and have supper with the sky pilot and me. I won't let him talk religion and he's got some good stories to tell."

Inez looked Douglas over. He and the tall Judith seemed to fill the kitchen. Doug finally had covered his big frame with muscles and he was a larger and handsomer man than his father.

"Doug," said Inez, "I am truly flattered. What are you trying to do? Convert me?"

Douglas answered with simple sincerity. "I don't care a hang whether you get converted or not."

"O you don't! Well, just to spite you, I'll come and let the old fellow try his hand!"

"Not really, Inez?" gasped Judith.

"I'd do more than that for Doug and for Lost Chief," said Inez soberly, "Doug isn't the only person who loves this old hole in the hills."

Judith turned to Douglas with a sudden wistfulness in her eyes, a sudden flare of a fire he had not seen in them before. He waited for her to speak but she only turned away toward the door.

"I'll look for you about six then, Inez," he said, and he followed Judith.

When the girls appeared at the cabin that evening, the table was set and the steak was frying. Inez and Judith winked at each other when Mr. Fowler said grace but otherwise the meal progressed decorously enough. It was Inez who brought up the tabooed subject. They had been sitting round the stove listening to a tale of old lynch law which the preacher told with real skill, when Inez interrupted him with entire irrelevance.

"Mr. Fowler, do you really believe there is such a thing as right and wrong?"

The preacher paused, studying Inez' face. Her dark eyes were steady and thoughtful. Her mouth, except for the slightly heavy lower lip, was sensitive. Her whole expression was one of pride and independence.

"Yes, I believe in right and wrong," replied Mr. Fowler, deliberately.

"What makes you believe that a man who lived nearly two thousand years ago can decide what is right or wrong for Lost Chief?" she asked.

"The Bible," answered the preacher.

"But the Bible is full of things that I would call crooked. Those prophets were always putting slick tricks over on each other and the people. There was a lot of dirty work done in the name of the Lord by those ancient Jews."

The preacher leaned toward the woman. "Do you believe in right and wrong, Inez Rodman?"

"No, I don't. I believe in kindness and in beauty. That's all."

"How does one believe in beauty?" asked Mr. Fowler.

"I mean," she replied, "that if you fill your mind with the beauty of this Lost Chief country and with poetry, there is no room for anything ugly."

"What would you call ugly?"

"Being mean to other people is one kind of ugliness."

"That's what I believe too," said Judith suddenly.

"Then, of course, neither of you two would have anything to do with the attempt to run the preacher out," suggested Douglas.

"No, I wouldn't," replied Inez; "and I told Scott so. That doesn't mean that I don't consider you plumb loco, Doug. Mr. Fowler isn't the kind to make the folks see the beauty of these hills. If he was I'd be helping instead of indifferent."

"If the folks would let God enter their hearts," cried the preacher, "they'd see beauty in these hills they never dreamed of."

"Well, as far as beauty goes, Inez," Douglas spoke thoughtfully, "you can't say there isn't considerable of that in the Bible. Take the Songs of Solomon. There never was finer love-making than that!"

"The Songs of Solomon don't deal with human passion," said Mr. Fowler hastily. "They are a recital of man's love for the Almighty and His works."

"O, no, Mr. Fowler!" cried Doug. "'Behold thou art fair, my loved one, behold thou art fair. Thou hast doves eyes within thy locks.' No man ever said that about anything but a woman."

No one spoke for a moment. Old Prince, who was lying with his head baking under the stove, growled and barked, then made for the door. Wolf Cub barked without, and a dog answered.

"Sister!" exclaimed Inez. "Peter must be coming."

Douglas opened the door and Prince shot out. Shortly Peter, then Charleton, came in, stamping the snow from their spurs and pulling off their gauntlets.

"Where did you two come from?" asked Judith, as the newcomers established themselves on up-ended boxes close to the stove.

"Just met here," replied Peter. "I had supper at Spencer's and came up to argue with the sky pilot."

"I'm setting traps up on Lost Chief," said Charleton, lighting a cigarette.

"Look out you don't mistake any of Scott's traps for yours," suggested Inez.

Everybody chuckled, and Peter said, "Elijah Nelson was down at my place yesterday. He's a pleasant, easy spoken man. I guess he and Scott have been having a lot of quiet fighting up there we haven't heard about."

"Is that what he came to see you about?" asked Doug.

"No. It seems his trail out to the Mountain City road is snowed up. He wants to get his mail over here if Scott will let him use his trail. He wants me to speak to Scott about it."

"What Scott will claim," Charleton smiled, "is that he positively must have a retired location and complete privacy on his trail."

There was another chuckle, during which the preacher looked from one keen face to another, but he did not speak.

"What has the scrapping been about, Peter?" asked Inez.

Douglas turned quietly to look at her. It suddenly occurred to him that Inez used Peter's name with a cadence that was new to him. He saw that she was watching Peter's thin sallow face with a shadow of strain about her eyes.

"O it's about a bull again," laughed Peter. "It seems that Scott has an old red bull that Nelson says is one of his, rebranded."

"But I thought," began Judith; then she caught Charleton's sardonic eye and subsided.

"What did you think, Judith?" asked Peter.

"Nothing. Go on with your story."

"There is no story to it. Scott's been keeping a six-shooter guard on the upper springs of Lost Chief, so's old Nelson hasn't had but half his usual allowance of water for his ditches. He is sorer about that than he is over the bull, though he certainly is determined to get the critter back. But he got small comfort out of me. I told him to keep his plural fingers off of Lost Chief Creek, or he would lose more than an old red bull."

"Right-o!" grunted Charleton.

"Are you going to ask Scott to let Nelson use his trail, Peter?" asked Inez.

"Sure! Why not?" laughed Peter.

"You will make Scott sore at you," replied Inez. "I haven't any quarrel with Scott myself, but I know he has a mean streak in him. If he thinks you are in cahoots with Nelson he will make you trouble."

"I'm not afraid of Scott," said Peter.

"Well, you'll need to be if you mix up in his affairs. He holds grudges over nothing."

"Awful bad man, Scott!" Douglas spoke with his quiet smile.

"I'm telling you he is!" insisted Inez. "He's been more than half in love with Judith for years and he'd just as soon double-cross Jude as anybody else. I want you to let him alone, please, Peter."

Peter was watching Judith. Only Douglas seemed aware of the concentrated entreaty in Inez' voice. "Poor Inez," he thought, "if she's caring for Peter, she'll be having her own little double Hades for everything she's done." He looked at Peter. Judith was staring thoughtfully at the stove and the postmaster's deep eyes were fastened on the girl's fine, clean-cut features, with a burning fire that suddenly brought Doug's heart to his throat.

"What's your opinion of Scott, Judith?" asked Peter.

"The same as Inez'. But I can't help liking him. He's done me lots of favors and he's kept me from making a fool of myself a number of times, even if he did double-cross me once. And he admires me. He certainly does!" She laughed with girlish navet and the others joined her.

"Then you must like me too!" said Peter.

"You are a nice old gentleman," retorted Judith.

Peter's lips closed grimly.

The preacher spoke with sudden vehemence. "Yet you people are allowing this same Scott to try to destroy Douglas' dream for Lost Chief."

"I say Scott is a valuable citizen," drawled Charleton. "He guards us from Mormons, from Christians, and from wild women."

Douglas did not join in the laugh that greeted this sally. An entirely new fear had come upon him. He bit his lip and stared from Judith to Peter and back again.

Inez rose suddenly. "Well, the moon is up. Come, Judith! It's time for wild women to retire to their caves."

Judith gave a gigantic yawn, stretched her beautiful long body till the tips of her fingers almost touched the low rafters, and said, "It's a good thing Charleton and Peter will be going along to protect us from Scott, the bad man."

The four presently jingled off down the snowy trail. Prince took up his shivering night-watch on the steps. Douglas and Mr. Fowler looked at each other soberly and went to bed.



CHAPTER XIII

PRINCE GOES MARCHING ON

"A wise dog won't tackle a trapped wolverine."

—Old Prince.

The next morning Johnny Brown trotted up on his old cow-pony. The preacher and Douglas were at breakfast. All the world was bristling with frost and a million opalescent lights danced on every snowdrift. Douglas swung the door open.

"Well, Johnny, did you finally break away from everybody?"

The little old man slid briskly from the saddle, brushed the icicles from his beard, and grinned broadly.

"Even Inez, she tried to stop me. Says some one has got to get her some cedar wood for her heater stove. 'You get you some squaw-wood, Inez,' I deponed. 'Them that can't make the men chop regular wood for 'em, don't deserve nothing better than brittle stuff like alder. Get you some squaw-wood, Inez,' I deponed. Douglas, they are plumb jealous of you. Since you seen there was something to me beside a old half-wit, they've all been horning round, jealous like, to get me."

Douglas, his yellow hair a glory in the rising sun, nodded seriously.

"Look to your saddle, Johnny, then come in to breakfast. I've got a few steers I want to dehorn to-day, so you're just in time."

The preacher was still at breakfast when old Johnny came in. The two old men stared at each other with unmixed interest. Douglas stood with his back to the stove, a cigarette drooping from his lips, a remote twinkle in his eyes.

Johnny lushed down his second saucer of coffee before he attempted to marshall his thoughts into speech. But, having accomplished this, he said, "Doug and me are gregus great friends, Mr. Fowler. There ain't anybody in Lost Chief thinks as much of him as I do."

The preacher nodded. "Douglas says he's fond of you."

"I guess he is," returned Johnny, condescendingly. "I guess if the truth be deponed he's fonder of me than he is of anybody—excepting maybe Judith. And Judith, she sure-gawd don't apregate Doug like I do, even if I am a half-wit. Judith's awful smart but she ain't got much sense."

"Judith is pretty fine, Johnny!" exclaimed Douglas, with the faint glow in his blue eyes that mention of her name always brought.

"Yes, she is," agreed Johnny. "But she's just like her mother was. All fire. And you can squench fire so it's just ashes. It would be a gregus good thing for the Valley if John Spencer was to break his neck."

"Don't say that, Johnny!" protested the preacher. "After all, he's one of God's creatures."

Johnny chuckled. "Now, who is half-witted, huh?"

"Young Jeff back on the mail route, Johnny?" asked Douglas hastily.

"Yes. Peter Knight, he's awful fond of Judith."

Douglas looked at Johnny keenly, his jaw setting as he did so. Was there, he thought, something obvious here, or was it only the half-wit's curiously sharp but confused intuition at work? At any rate, he must know the truth. He could not endure this added uneasiness.

"On second thoughts," he said aloud, "I think I'll not dehorn to-day. I want to get an order off for a new saddle on to-day's mail stage. Johnny, one of your main jobs is to guard the sky pilot and the chapel, when I'm not here. You're not to let anything happen to either of them."

"Shall I shoot on sight?" demanded the little old man.

Mr. Fowler smiled. Douglas shook his head. "No; let's not get into that kind of trouble. You don't carry a gun anyhow, do you?"

"No," plaintively. "Grandma won't let me. But I thought you'd loan me something."

"I haven't got anything but my old six-shooter, which I can't spare. Listen, Johnny! When you think somebody needs to be shot, you come to me and tell me about it, see? You know I know you have a lot more self-control than these Lost Chief folks think you have. You aren't one of these guys that shoots first and thinks afterward."

Johnny turned to the preacher triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you he was my friend?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Mr. Fowler, "and he's mine too, and you and I must take care of him. Lost Chief needs him."

Old Johnny rose and solemnly offered a gnarled hand to the preacher. Douglas laughed in an embarrassed way and went out to the corral, to saddle the Moose.

Judith was feeding the chickens as he trotted past the Spencer place. He waved his hand but would not permit himself to stop. He found Peter alone in his room, mending a belt.

"Well, Doug," he said, "how does the reform movement progress?"

"We added Johnny Brown to our side this morning," replied Douglas. "Some line-up, I'd say!"

"Old Johnny is certainly your man," Peter chuckled. "How do he and the sky pilot hit it off?"

"It's too early to say. By the way, did you have a run-in with Scott?"

"Not at all. Scott said Elijah was welcome to use the trail if he kept to it."

Doug's mouth opened and closed. He took a letter from his pocket and laid a pile of bills beside it on the table. "Will you send that mail order off for me to-day, Peter? I'm blowing myself to a new saddle."

"Must be money in staking a sky pilot," grinned the postmaster. "I didn't notice you taking up a collection on Sunday, though."

Douglas laughed. "It pays so well that I've got to ride the traps again this winter to pay for the grub-stake. Dad is so sore that he isn't allowing me all he might."

"I'll help you if you are too much squeezed. I hope you won't be as bull-headed about taking a loan from me as Judith is. By the way, how are matters coming between you and Jude, Douglas?"

"Report no progress!" grunted Doug.

"She's a restless young colt. I wish she could begin to get a sense of direction as you are. Maybe she will, now she can get a bird's-eye view of you. You've always lived too close to each other to understand each other. You'll learn a lot about Jude and she about you, now you've moved a few miles away."

"Do you honestly want me to have Judith, Peter?" asked Douglas with a sudden huskiness in his voice.

Peter, who was standing by the window examining the buckles of the belt, looked up at Douglas with surprise in the lift of his eyebrows. After a moment, he said, "What are you driving at, Doug?"

Douglas took a quick turn up and down the room, then halted before Peter, his sensitive mouth twitching, his blue eyes glowing. It seemed to him that he could not ask the question that must be asked; but finally he spoke, in a voice that was tense in the effort for self-control.

"Peter, I've thought of nothing else since last night. Something about the way you looked at her—! You are the best friend that I have, Peter, but I can't give Judith up, even to you; it would be like trying to tear the veins out of my body. She's my life, Judith is!"

The older man put the rider's belt carefully on the window-ledge, walked over to the table and slowly filled his pipe. When he had filled it, he laid it down beside the belt, put his hands in his pocket, and turned to Doug, who, with the cold sweat standing on his forehead, was watching Peter's every movement. The wind swept snow down through the sod roof. It hissed faintly on the stove. Peter's long face was knotted and hard.

"You have given me a shock, Douglas," he said at last. "You've given me a shock!"

Douglas' heart thudded heavily. It was true, then! Peter did care, though perhaps he had not realized it before.

Peter went on, with painful concentration on Douglas' blue eyes. "I hadn't known it, till this minute, Doug. I thought I was through. I'm fifty-six. God! Does life never finish with a man?" He laughed drearily. "Don't look at me like that, Douglas! You and I will never be rivals! This sort of thing can't undo me again. I swear it!"

He paced the room again, and once more paused before the young rider. "Not that I underestimate the strength of the thing. Who knows so well as I that love is the most powerful force in the world? Mind you, Doug, I make a sharp distinction between love and lust. Lust can be controlled by any one. Love can be controlled by a man as old as I am. But when love grips a young fellow like you, he is powerless to throw it off. I'd be a cur, Douglas, at my age, to refuse to throttle a love that would conflict with you—the man I like best in the world."

He paused. Douglas did not stir. Peter lifted his pipe, laid it down, and set a match carefully beside it.

"Douglas," he said, "my market is made. I sold my birthright for a mess of pottage. Whatever regrets or grief I may have are just. To contemplate a girl like Judith having any interest in me, is ghastly. Judith is yours, whether she realizes it or not. Will you stay for dinner?"

He put his pipe in his mouth, and lighted it. Douglas gave a long, uncertain sigh.

"No, thanks, Peter! I must get back to my sky pilot. You will be at the log chapel early on Sunday?"

"Yes. But you'd better let him handle the meeting. Have him preach on immortality. You've sort of got them going on that."

Douglas nodded, put his hand on the door-knob, then turned back.

"Peter, does life never finish with a man? Don't you find peace anywhere along the line?"

"Not your kind of a man. There are a number of sure springs in the desert, though, where a man can be certain of a mighty pleasant camp. But it's only a camp."

Douglas moistened his lips. "What can a fellow do about it?" he demanded.

"Well," replied the older man, "he can make up his mind to find it devilishly interesting, even the dry marches."

The young rider threw back his head. "Me—I'm going to find more than interest! I'll find color and some thrills, too. See if I don't!"

Peter laughed grimly. "Yes, you'll find a thrill or two but always where you least expect it."

Douglas' smile was twisted. He opened the door and went out into the wind-swept day. Smoke drove horizontally from the low chimneys that dotted the valley. Cattle bellowed as if in disconsolate protest against the ruthless on-march of winter. Douglas, in spite of the last few words with Peter, was in a curiously uplifted frame of mind which for some time he could not dissect. Part of it he knew to be relief from the sudden suspicion that had overwhelmed him, but he was half-way home before he told himself that Peter's essential fineness had revived his faith in the goodness and kindliness in human nature. In a life where one could know a Peter, he thought, there must be beauty and a kind of beauty that Inez could neither find nor appreciate. Poor old Inez!