“But remember, Judith,” he said, “that you’ve always got me.”

She gave him an enigmatic look and returned to her work.

CHAPTER IV

THE HOUSE IN THE YELLOW CANYON

“Beauty:  to see it, to hear it, to feel it:  that’s all that makes life worth while.”

—­Inez Rodman.

Douglas was both elated and dejected by his conversation with Judith.  He was elated to feel that at last Judith knew his feeling toward her.  He was dejected because he felt that she had no understanding of the depth and sincerity of this feeling.  And with that marvelously naive egotism of the male, he gave many hours of heavy thought to Judith’s weaknesses and temptations, none at all to his own.  Perhaps more than anything, Judith’s friendship with Inez began to worry him.  The more he pondered on it, the more perturbed he became; and finally, a week or so after the dance, he resolved to ask Inez to break with Judith.

The Rodman house was built against the sheer yellow stone facing at the base of Lost Chief range, known incorrectly as the Yellow Canyon.  The house of half a dozen rooms was the most picturesque cabin in the valley, for Grandfather Rodman had built the roof with an overhang, giving the house the hospitable shadows of a little Swiss chalet.  There were several hundred acres belonging to the ranch.  Free range had grown small before Inez’ father died and he had gotten his acres well into grass and alfalfa.  But when he and Inez’ mother were wiped out by smallpox, leaving the ranch to Inez, the fields rapidly returned to the wild.  Inez, fifteen at the time of her parents’ death, was unwilling to lead the life of a ranch woman and for ten years the ranch had been going to pieces.

When Douglas rode up to the outer corral in the dusk of the June evening, he was struck anew by the disorder of the place.  Cattle tramped freely about the house.  An old steer was poking his head in at the kitchen window.  Chickens roosted on a saddle, which was flung in the stable muck.  Tin cans, old wagon wheels, the ruin of a sheep wagon, were heaped in confusion at one end of the cabin.  Three or four dogs barked as Doug rode up on old Mike.  He called Prince in and looked inquiringly at two other horses tied to the dilapidated corral fence.  They were Beauty, his father’s horse, and Yankee, Peter’s roan.

As Doug sat hesitating, John and Peter came out of the kitchen laughing.  They swung, spurs clanking, up to the fence.

“What the devil are you doing here, Doug?” asked Peter Knight.

“Hasn’t he got a right to call on the Harlot of the Canyon?” demanded John, with a chuckle.  “Hustle up, Peter!  The crowd’ll be there for the game before you are.”

“They can’t get in till I unlock,” replied Peter.  “Here, John, take the key and ride on.  I want to talk to Doug.”

John caught the key and trotted off.  Sister snarled at Prince, who wagged his tail apologetically.