Judith of the Godless Valley. Honoré Morrow

attempt to form the interest into friendship.

      The crowd of riders drew up at the post-office, sparks and snow flying, just as Maud and Judith lashed their horses in from the west trail. Judith waved a bottle of whiskey.

      "Some providers!" cried Scott, putting out his hand for the flask. He took a pull, then passed it on. Boys and girls alike took a drink, then Scott pocketed the bottle. During this procedure, the door of the post-office opened and Peter Knight appeared.

      He was about forty-five years old, very tall, very, very thin, and as straight as he was thin. Thick, closely clipped gray hair stood up straight from his forehead. His eyes were deep sunk in his head and a piercing, light blue. He possessed a belligerent chin below an obstinate lower lip and a close-cropped gray mustache. He wore a gray flannel shirt and blue denim pants turned high over riding-boots.

      He watched the passing of the whiskey bottle without comment.

      "Hello, Peter!" called Judith. "Will you open the hall and let us have a dance?"

      "What have you been doing to your horse, Jude?" demanded Peter, eying the panting and dejected Swift.

      "Nothing!"

      "Nothing! I tell you what, the way you little devils treat your horses would draw tears out of a coyote. Starving 'em, beating 'em, running 'em! You ought to be thrashed, every one of you worthless young slicks."

      Curiously enough, none of the group which had shown so much temerity in man-handling the preacher now attempted to reply to Peter. A great shaggy gray dog, exactly like a coyote except that she was much larger, now appeared in the door beside the postmaster. A chorus of growls and whines immediately arose from the dogs congregated among the horses.

      "What happened at the schoolhouse?" asked Peter abruptly.

      "You're always preaching, yourself; I suppose that's why you didn't attend," grinned Scott Parsons.

      "My Yankee horse is sick," said Peter, "and I couldn't leave him. How did it go?"

      "We ran him out," laughed Douglas. "We gave him a chance to give us real talk but he couldn't come across, so we roped him and ran him."

      "I thought that would happen. Poor Fowler!" Peter's voice was grave.

      "Listen, Peter," cried Judith, "I want to ask you a favor."

      She mounted the steps and stood before the man. She was as thin as he and as straight. Peter looked down at her, still scowling.

      "Now, Peter, listen! You know I love Swift and wouldn't hurt her for anything."

      "Wouldn't hurt her! Haven't I told you a hundred times that running a horse through drifts like you do ruins 'em? No, don't try to soft-soap me, Judith! When you kids want a favor from me, don't come up with your horses dripping sweat in below zero weather."

      He jerked Sister back into the building and slammed the door.

      Judith turned. "Well, we can all go over to Inez' place. She asked us."

      "Who's there?" demanded Doug.

      "Nobody. She says we can dance if we want to."

      There was a silence, broken after a moment by Jimmy Day. "You can't go,

       Maud."

      "I am going if you do!" exclaimed Maud. "Make him let me go, Doug."

      "What's the use of being so fussy about poor old Inez?" asked Scott.

       "What harm is there in a dance at her place?"

      "I don't see why, if my mother don't stop me, yours should stop you," protested Judith.

      "O, your mother couldn't boss a day-old calf!" said Jimmy impatiently.

      "Don't you knock my mother!" shrilled Judith.

      "Your mother—" began Maud.

      "Dry up, Maud, or I'll smack your mouth!" ordered Douglas.

      "No you won't!" cried Jimmy.

      "I will, anybody that says anything against Jude's mother," returned

       Douglas promptly.

      "Aw, if you folks are going to start fighting, as usual I'm going home," growled Scott Parsons. "Every time the crowd gets together, Jude has to start a scrap. It's getting god-awful cold, anyhow, and I've got chores to do." He spurred Ginger and was off.

      "Same here!" chimed half a dozen voices, and more horses were spurred away.

      Douglas glared at Judith. "Always making trouble! I should think you'd get sick of it."

      "Let 'em not knock my mother, or my horse, or my dog, then," replied

       Judith, tossing her head.

      "Your dog! Prince is my dog, miss, and don't you forget it for a minute," cried Douglas.

      He spurred Buster onto the main trail which lifted gradually toward Dead

       Line Peak. Judith, after a pouting moment, followed him.

      Except for this steady lift from seven thousand feet at Black Gorge to eight thousand feet at the base of Dead Line and Falkner's Peaks, the valley was as level as a floor. The sun was setting as the two left the post-office. Lost Chief Range, on their right, was black against fire. The snow of the valley was as blue as indigo. A gentle but bitterly cold wind rose from the east. Prince, yelping, set off after a skulking coyote. When he had disappeared beyond a distant herd grazing through the snow, Judith pushed her horse up beside Buster.

      "Doug, am I any scrappier than the rest of them?"

      Douglas, his cigarette hanging negligently from a corner of his mouth, nodded.

      "Well, I have to be, Doug," insisted Judith.

      "No, you don't. You just look for trouble, all the time. Why do you have to be?"

      "Who is there to look out for me?" demanded the girl, chin in the air.

      "Pshaw! You don't need a guard, do you? Besides, what's the matter with me?"

      "Huh! You don't really care what happens to me. I'm not your real sister and you never forget it. I'm lonely."

      Douglas gave her a curious glance. Was she, he wondered, experiencing that feeling of loneliness and longing which had been haunting him for months? He wanted to ask her about it but he could not. She laughed at him too easily.

      They rode on in silence for a while, Judith's thin young body sagging dejectedly in the saddle. The lavendar twilight was gathering. White stars hung within hand touch. Prince returned to the trail and a coyote barked derisively from beyond an alfalfa stack.

      "Douglas," exclaimed Judith suddenly, "if I thought when I got married, my husband would treat me like Dad does Mother, I'd never get married. Getting married in real life isn't a bit like the books show it."

      Douglas grunted. "I wouldn't worry about getting married for a few years yet."

      "I'm fourteen," returned Judith. "I've got a right to think about it.

       Don't you ever?"

      "No."

      "You think about girls, though," insisted Judith.

      "That isn't thinking about marrying, is it?"

      "What do you think about mostly, Doug?"

      Douglas sighed. "It's hard to say. I've been awful sad lately. I don't know why. I think about that and I plan a lot about what I'm going to do when I finish school."

      "Would you like to marry Maud Day?"

      "Who's talking about marrying!" shouted Doug with sudden and overwhelming exasperation. "What makes you such a fool, Jude?"

      "How can I help talking about it when it's my mother your father's so rough with. Of course, you don't care."

      "I do,