"I do," replied Judith, with a sudden thrilling intensity in her young voice. "I want his strength to be as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure."
"Judith, you really do?"
"Yes, I really do."
Douglas drew a long breath. "Judith, would you want me to be that way?"
"I sure would."
"Well, then, Judith, so help me God, I will be!"
Judith put her slender, muscular hand on Doug's, swallowed hard once or twice, but said nothing. Then the tense moment past, she asked, "Honest, Doug, don't you think that was kind of a smart stunt of mine?"
"I certainly do," with heart-felt conviction. "But I want you to promise me one thing. That you won't run any more cattle. Will you, Jude?"
"I'll promise you, if you'll promise me," returned Judith promptly.
"But it's different with a man," repeated Douglas.
"But you promised about that other."
"That was different. It was something personal between you and me. The other is business."
"All right! I don't promise unless you do."
"I can't promise, Jude. Honest, I can't."
Jude laughed and jumped to her feet. "You are a goose, Doug, but I sure am fond of you." Then she left him.
Douglas sat still, his head pressed against the indescribable sweetness of the alfalfa hay, eyes on the wonder of the stars. Finally he said aloud, "I wish there was somebody a fellow could talk to that knows things. I wish my grandfather Douglas was alive. Peter jaws
