“About Fowler, I suppose.”

“Yes.  He feels that I am disgracing him.  He’s sure I’m going to turn religious.  I can’t make him believe that that is not why I’m bringing Fowler in.”

“What is your real reason, Doug?” asked Peter, taking a huge bite of cold fried beef.

“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.

“Does she still talk about going the round of the rodeos with a string of buckers?”

“No.  She says that was just kid stuff.  She has an idea now she’ll breed thoroughbred horses.”  Douglas turned over on his back and gazed up into the heavens, where an eagle hung, motionless.

“Lord!  Breeding horses is no work for Jude!” cried Peter.

Douglas did not reply.  Peter eyed the young man’s clean, hawk-like profile and went on.  “What does she say about you and Fowler?”

“She laughs at me.”

“Do you think you can get her in touch with Fowler?”

Douglas sat up with a jerk.  “Get her in touch with him?  Say, what do you think I’m bringing that sky pilot in here for?  You can bet she’ll get in touch with him!  I’ll show that girl I haven’t played all my cards yet!”

Peter stared long and unblinkingly at Douglas.  “Well, I’ll be damned!” he muttered and filled his pipe again.