scant twenty years. No one knew whence he came, nor why. He was a man
of education and an ardent lover of animals, a somewhat sardonic, very
lonely man, yet somehow having more influence in the valley than any
one save Grandma Brown. He showed no actual fondness for any particular
person save Judith and his big mongrel wolf-hound, Sister, Sister being
every inch a person! Douglas had sometimes thought that Peter showed
a real interest in him, but this interest was shown almost entirely by
scathing vituperations, so the boy made no attempt to form the interest
into friendship.

The crowd of riders drew up at the post-office, sparks and snow flying,
just as Maud and Judith lashed their horses in from the west trail.
Judith waved a bottle of whiskey.

"Some providers!" cried Scott, putting out his hand for the flask.
He took a pull, then passed it on. Boys and girls alike took a drink,
then Scott pocketed the bottle. During this procedure, the door of the
post-office opened and Peter Knight appeared.

He was about forty-five years old, very tall, very, very thin, and
as straight as he was thin. Thick, closely clipped gray hair stood up
straight from his forehead. His eyes were deep sunk in his head and a
piercing, light blue. He possessed a belligerent chin below an obstinate
lower lip and a close-cropped gray mustache. He wore a gray flannel shirt
and blue denim pants turned high over riding-boots.

He watched the passing of the whiskey bottle without comment.

"Hello, Peter!" called Judith. "Will you open the hall and let us have a
dance?"