from the nostril to the corner of the mouth. Beneath his eyes were faint pouches. The thick thatch of yellow hair had lost its yellow light and now was drab in tone. His flannel shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, showed a strong neck, and the rider's belt that circled the top of his blue denim pants outlined a waist as slim and hard as Doug's.
He looked up. "What do you mean by coming in at this hour, you young hound?"
"I think I might have Sunday afternoon to myself," said Douglas sulkily.
"So do I. But that don't mean you are to have all Sunday night, too. Did you feed the calves?"
"Yes."
"Next Sunday you be here by five o'clock, understand?"
"Yes."
"Supper's ready!" called Judith.
The table was covered by a red-checked cloth. A huge platter of fried beef, another of fried potatoes, another of baking-powder biscuits, and a pot of coffee steamed on the table. John did not speak until his first hunger had been satisfied. When he received his second cup of coffee, however, he said, "Well, my tooth's better. What happened this afternoon, children?"
Judith did not reply, but Douglas, with a chuckle, told the story of Mr. Fowler's discomfiture. John and Mary shouted with laughter.
"By old Sitting Bull, it serves him right!" John wiped his eyes. "What became of him?"
"O, he beat it for the Pass!" replied Douglas.
"What did you do after that?" inquired Mrs. Spencer.
"We went up to the post-office to get Peter to let us
