"Sit down and talk to us a little, Douglas," suggested Inez.
Douglas hauled up a broken wagon seat and sat down. Prince crawled up beside him and went to sleep with his head and one paw on Doug's knee.
"I suppose congress was sitting at the post-office, to-night?" said Judith.
"Yes. Everybody's strong for you and Little Marion."
"I don't see why I should be bunched with her. Not that I care though!" Judith tossed her head and then dropped her chin to the palm of her hand.
"I swear some one ought to give John Spencer a good thrashing!" exclaimed Inez.
"Don't worry!" Judith spoke through set teeth. "I'll be even with him some day."
"I just as soon try to lick him," said Doug. "But what good would it do?"
The three sat in silence for a moment; then Douglas asked suddenly, "Inez, do you believe that poetry about the Fire Mist that you taught Judith?"
"No; but I think it's a beautiful poem, just the same."
"Say it all for me, will you, Inez?"
Inez, in her soft contralto, repeated the lines.
"And you don't believe it?" Douglas' voice was wistful. "Don't you wish you did?"
"I don't know as I do," replied Inez.
"But don't you see," urged Douglas, "that without believing it, there's no meaning to anything?"
"Well, what of it?" asked Inez.
"I'm the kind of a guy that has to see a purpose to things, I guess," replied Douglas, heavily. "Peter is dead right. Lost Chief is a rotten hole."
"It's a rotten place for women and a paradise for men," stated Judith flatly.
