As the coffin was lowered into the grave, Grandma said, “Does anybody feel like saying a few last words?”

There was a silence broken only by the murmur of the Forest, then Johnny Brown cleared his throat.  “I might say a whole lot of things.  I wasn’t so goldarned proud of Oscar like the rest of you seemed to be.  He had a gregus kind of a temper and oncet—­”

Grandma turned on him.  “Johnny Brown, ain’t you ashamed of yourself!”

“No, I ain’t!  You say I ain’t all here, and the part that I’d be ashamed with is the part that’s gone,” returned Johnny firmly.

Judith gave an irrepressible snort, then fastened solemn eyes on the sky.  A restless clearing of throats swept the little assemblage; then Grandma, indignation still in her kind old voice, spoke once more.

“Can’t any of you men that knew Oscar all his life say something comforting before you close his grave?” she urged.  “Then I’ll try to do it.  I was brought up religious, myself.”  She lifted her serene old face to the evening sky.  “O God, this man wandered far from You like all the rest of us here.  But an old woman like me believes You’re there and that you know Oscar hadn’t a really bad hair in his head.  Take his soul, Lord, and be as good to him as You can.  I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord.  He that believeth in me, even though he die, yet shall he have Eternal Life.”

The tears were running down many cheeks when the old lady finished.  Foolish old Johnny laughed, then he began to sing a hymn in which several of the women joined.

“God be with you till we meet again,
By his counsels guide, uphold you,
With his sheep securely fold you,
God be with you till we meet again.”

And so the earthly career of Oscar Jefferson ended.

CHAPTER III

THE GRADUATION DANCE

“Horses, dogs, guns, women, whiskey, the open country of the Rockies—­enough for any man.”

—­Charleton Falkner.

Instead of riding home with Judith, after the ceremony, Douglas, on sudden impulse, took a roundabout way to the post-office, thence toward the Browns’ ranch.  Dusk was settling in the valley.  The quivering aspens along Lost Chief creek were etched gray rose on the deep blue snow.  Far to the east a single scarlet mountain-top pierced through the twilight blue.  Buster loped swiftly through the swimming landscape.

When he reached the post-office Douglas did not stop but rode on along Black Gulch trail to the Browns’.  Grandma, returning by the direct route from the cemetery, had been home for a half-hour before Doug arrived.  She was coming out of the cow stable, lantern in hand, when the boy dismounted at the corral.  Spurs clanking, brave chaps flapping, Douglas ran to her like a child and caught her apron in his gauntleted hand.

“Grandma!  Tell me something!  Did you believe what you said at the grave?”