"I don't want to turn religious. I don't want to be anything that's queer or unreasonable. What I want is to get to believe—in a future life."
Peter laughed. "Isn't that religion?"
"I don't think so! You can believe in immortality without believing in miracles and that Eve was made out of a man's rib, and without being goody-goody."
Peter made no comment for a moment. He finished his beef and lighted his pipe before he said, "I have an idea that the kind of a mind that can believe in the soul's floating around in space can swallow the rib story without much choking. What I want to see in Lost Chief is the kind of ethics that Christ taught."
"Ethics! Ethics!" scoffed the younger man. "Who gives a hang about ethics if they aren't going to help us live again? You can bet I don't! Ethics may do for a cold-blooded guy like you, Peter. But me! I want something as big and as real and as warm-looking as Fire Mesa."
"Poor old Fowler!" groaned Peter.
Douglas glanced at the postmaster questioningly; then his eyes wandered back toward the ranch house. A tiny figure in blue leaped on a horse and was off at a gallop.
"Judith's going to Inez' place," said Douglas.
"She sees too much of Inez!" Peter scowled. "Her mind is getting exactly Inez' twist to it."
"There was a time when you told me Inez could give Judith good advice." Doug's voice was bitter.
"So she could. But I never said Inez and Jude should be buddies, did I?"
Douglas threw his cigarette into the creek and rolled over on his face with a groan. "I'm sick of worrying about it!" he said.
