“I suppose you’re going to get something worth while from Dad for this!” cried Judith passionately.

Scott looked at the girl curiously.  “You sure are crazy, Jude!  Do you suppose I’d help John Spencer do you like that?  John’s a blank-blank and he knows it.”

Douglas moved to stand by Ginger’s head.

“No man says that to me without a grin.”  John drew his gun.

“Jude!” said Doug sharply.  He reached up and seized Scott’s hand and with a sudden twist relieved him of his six-shooter.

Judith struck up her father’s arm and a shot scattered dust from the sod roof of the cabin.  John smacked Judith on the cheek.  She threw herself on him like a fighting she-bear.  John dropped his gun to seize her wrists and Mary promptly picked the weapon up and gave it to Douglas.

“Now,” said Doug, when Judith stood panting like a young Diana, her eyes black with anger and excitement, “if you two men want to fight, take your fists and go to it!”

John suddenly grinned, his eyes on Judith.  “I don’t see anybody spoiling for a fist fight but Judith.  You little lynx-cat!  You get handsomer every day!”

“I’d hate to let a woman make putty of me like that,” sneered Scott.  “Let me have my shooting-iron, Doug.”

Douglas had broken the revolver and unloaded it.  He gave it back, receiving the lead ropes of the two animals in return, and Scott trotted away.

“I’m much obliged to you, Scott!” shrieked Judith.  “I’ll ride up and tell you all about it, some day.”

Scott waved his hand but did not look back.  John, still holding Judith’s wrists, suddenly drew her to him and kissed her full on the lips.  Then, with a laugh, he freed her and returned to his breakfast.  Douglas swore under his breath and turned the uneasy Sioux and Whoop-la into the corral.  The day went forward as if nothing had happened.

That night, Charleton and John appeared at the post-office gathering for the first time since the birth of Little Marion’s baby.  Only Peter had the intrepidity to comment on recent events.

“I didn’t want Judith to go alone with you to Mountain City, John,” he said.  “But, all the same, that was a rotten deal you gave her.”

“She’s a disobedient little hussy,” John’s voice was truculent, “and it was the only way I could get at her.”

“You mean the fight she put up to help Little Marion?” demanded Peter.

“O, dry up, Peter!” exclaimed Charleton.  “Me, I’m sick of the sound of a woman’s name.  They’re all alike, ungrateful minxes.”

“Ungrateful is the word,” agreed Peter grimly.  “But I’d like to know just what Marion was under obligation to you for?”

Charleton did not reply.

“When are they going to be married?” asked Peter, after a moment.

“First of the month.  We’ll give ’em a party up here in the hall that Lost Chief will never forget.  John, do you ride to-morrow?”