Judith of the Godless Valley. Honoré Morrow

matter with you anyhow? You never used to want to dance with me."

      "I'm just trying to keep you from dancing with all these roughneck riders." Douglas' chin was in the air above his bright blue silk neck scarf.

      Judith's eyes swept him appraisingly. His white silk shirt hung loose on his thin, fine shoulders. His broad rider's belt, studded with blue enameled rings, encircled a waist almost as slender as Jude's own. His white duck trousers were turned up to display new riding boots, and his spurs, a graduation gift, were of silver and chimed at his slightest movement.

      "You're almost as good-looking as Jimmy Day," she said with a sudden chuckle. "Run along, Doug. You aren't old enough to protect me from these bad men!" And she turned to dance with the waiting Jimmy.

      It was nearing midnight when Douglas achieved his first dance with Inez.

       She was the best dancer in the room, and Douglas told her so.

      "I'll bet you haven't told that to the other girls," she said with a flash of her white teeth.

      "I have! I said it to Jude when she turned me down for Dad."

      "Smart! Helps both you and me with Jude, of course!"

      "Much you care about that!" retorted Douglas.

      "I like to be liked, of course," said Inez.

      "You do?" Douglas' voice was so honestly incredulous that Inez exclaimed resentfully:

      "Am I so much worse than a lot of the kids at school?"

      Douglas shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Judith's straight. I've kept her so."

      Inez laughed. "Judith's straight because she's that kind of a girl. Why don't you watch your dad instead of Jude?"

      Douglas' lips tightened and Inez studied his face in silence for a moment; then she went on, "Pretty fond of Jude, aren't you, Doug? Your father is a devil with women—that big, bossy, good-looking kind always is. I tell Jude so every time I see her."

      "How often do you see her?" demanded Douglas quickly.

      "I guess she has a right to come to my house as often as she wants to."

      "No, she hasn't," brusquely.

      Inez sniffed, then smiled. She had a frank and lovely smile. Douglas' face softened and they finished the waltz in silence.

      Not all the music was of the cheaply popular variety. Between dances

       Peter slipped on occasional opera records. He was playing from Martha:

      "Ah, so pure, so bright,

       Burst her beauty upon my sight,

       Ah, so mild, ah, so divine

       She beguiled this heart of mine."

      when a man called from the open door, "Good evening, folks!"

      "Why, it's Scott Parsons!" cried Grandma Brown.

      There was a pause, during which the tender voice of the phonograph thrilled on. Young Jeff, his red face even redder than his visits to the pail would warrant, put his hand to his hip. Judith darted before him and ran the length of the room.

      "Hello, Scott! Welcome home! The next dance is yours."

      "No, it's not!" shouted John Spencer. "You let Judith alone, you blank young outlaw you!"

      "Get out of my way, Jude!" shouted Young Jeff. "I told Scott not to come back to Lost Chief!"

      He strode down the room, his hand still on his gun. Scott's hand had been equally quick. Peter Knight turned off the machine. "Hold on, Jeff!" he cried. "You turned Scott over to the law, and the law acquitted him. If you'd wanted to take things in your own hands, you should have done so before the trial. If you kill Scott, you're no better than he is."

      "That's right!" cried Grandma Brown. "And your record ain't so clean,

       Young Jeff, that you can afford to start anything!"

      Judith tossed her head. "I don't see why Young Jeff should be allowed to spoil a perfectly good party."

      "If you can't put him out, Jude, I can!" cried Inez.

      Everybody laughed. Jude seized one of Young Jeff's big hands, Inez the other. There was an uproarious scuffle which ended in the three, laughing immoderately, executing a hybrid folk dance to the one-step which Peter began to play. And Scott danced unmolested during the remainder of the night.

      Charleton Falkner had drunk a good deal but was as yet little the worse for it. He and Douglas met at the pail shortly after midnight. Charleton gave the young man an amused glance.

      "You look sort of bored, Doug! Come outside and talk a little."

      Douglas gave a quick glance around the hall—at Judith, swooping in great circles with Scott Parsons, at Inez dancing with his father. "All right!" he said, and followed Charleton out into the moonlight. They perched on the buck fence and smoked for a time in silence.

      "That's a good horse of Young Jeff's, eh?" said Charleton finally.

      "Not as good as the dapple gray he gave me will be when I get time to break him," replied Douglas. "I don't know! I'm not as interested in things as I was."

      "What's the matter?" asked Charleton, sympathetically.

      "I guess Oscar's killing upset me," said Douglas vaguely.

      "I don't suppose you ever heard of Weltschmerz," mused Charleton. "It's a kind of mental stomach-ache most young fellows get about the time they begin to fall in love."

      Douglas grunted.

      "Though you were pretty young to run into Oscar that way," Charleton went on thoughtfully.

      "It isn't that; though I was scared stiff, of course. But it was seeing Oscar laid in the ground to rot and hearing you and Peter and Dad say that was all there was to it."

      Charleton nodded. "I know! But you'll reach my state of don't give a hoop-la, when you're a little older. Wine and women and a good horse. They help."

      Douglas drew a shuddering breath. "Is that all you've found out? All?"

      "Of course, there's ambition," said Charleton. "I was ambitious, myself, once. You know my father was a college man and he wanted me to go back East to school. I almost went."

      "Why didn't you go?" asked Douglas, immensely flattered at the mark of confidence being shown him. Charleton Falkner was notoriously reticent about himself.

      "O, it's this easy life of the open! Why should I have gone into politics as my father wanted me to, when I could be happier with an easy living right here? And it would all end up there in the cemetery, anyhow. And what had ambition to offer me in comparison to the sport of running wild horses on Fire Mesa, or riding herd in the Reserve or hunting deer on Falkner's Peak. Horses, dogs, guns, women, whiskey, the open country of the Rockies. Enough for any man."

      "Maybe!" muttered Douglas.

      "What are you going to do now you're through school?" asked Charleton abruptly.

      "Ride for Dad. He's promised me a herd of my own when I'm twenty-one."

      "Listen!" said Charleton. "How'd you like to do a little business with me once in a while when John can spare you? You know, cattle, horses and such!"

      Douglas grinned delightedly. "Do you really mean it? Why, you know, Charleton, as well as I do, there isn't a young rider in Lost Chief who wouldn't give anything to go out on trips with you."

      "Fine! I'll be tipping you the wink one of these days. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut to every one but your father. Come in and we'll have a drink on the new partnership."

      Douglas had as yet acquired no great taste for such fiery pollutions as the pail contained. But Charleton now applied himself so strenuously to the business of getting drunk that shortly he was leaning