“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 on the phonograph and reciting with powerful lungs: 

“’Tis but a tent where takes his one day’s rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises and the dark Ferrash
Strikes and prepares it for another Guest.”

No one heeded him particularly.  He smiled amiably at Peter, leaned farther on the machine, and said, “Somebody will have to ease me to my horse,” then he drowsed forward over the phonograph.  Douglas and Peter, laughing, eased him to his horse, and Charleton, his arms around Democrat’s neck, jogged slowly off on the home trail.

June dawn was peering over the Indian Range when the party broke up.  Scott disappeared with Judith.  When John discovered this, he bolted after the two.

“You’d better go see that nothing happens, Doug,” said Mary Spencer.  “John’s drunk too much.”

“I’m going home,” declared Douglas.  “I got some pride, and Judith’s treated me like a dog to-night.  She’s too fond of starting something she don’t know the finish of.”

Mary and he were riding alone in the dawn.  “You promised me you’d look out for her.  Don’t you care for her any more, Douglas?”

“Yes, I do!”

“Have you ever told her so?”

“She’s too young.”

“No, she isn’t, Douglas.  You remember you told me she knew more than I do.”

Douglas said nothing; and after a moment, his step-mother said, hesitatingly, “Doug, I hate to see you dancing so much with Inez.”

“What harm was there in it?”

“I don’t know that I can tell you, Doug.  When I was a girl, going to the log schoolhouse, we girls never thought of touching whiskey.  Our mothers would have killed us if we had.”

“The world do move!” grunted Douglas.

“I don’t believe it’s the world.  Not from the books I read.  I think it’s just Lost Chief.  The old folks in my day had real influence in the valley.  There were many like Grandma Brown.  But now!  Why, your father will never be the good influence his father was, and I’d never be like Grandma.  I don’t know why.”