"You'll find Buster tied to my saddle, Doug," said John. "Judith, can
Swift still move?"

"You bet she can!" replied Judith.

There was a laugh, and the two young people gladly mounted and trotted
into the home trail.

Oscar's wife had long been dead. His son was on a cattle-buying trip and
could not be reached. Oscar had been one of the richest men in the very
well conditioned valley, so, instead of taking the body up to the lonely
ranch house, it was laid out in state in the post-office.

Grandma Brown always officiated at deaths and births in Lost Chief. After
it was found impossible to get in touch with young Jeff and after the
sheriff had made a three days' investigation, she ordered the funeral
to take place at once.

"We could pack him down in the ice till a thaw opens up the cemetery a
little," suggested Charleton Falkner. "You know what a god-awful job it
is making a grave in the cemetery in winter, between the frost and the
rocks."

"He's going to be buried now, while he's in good trim," declared Grandma.
"I'm not going to have him ruined, waiting for spring. You men get to
work now, in shifts, like you did for old Ma Day."

Grandma's word was law in Lost Chief, and the grave forthwith was
prepared. John Spencer, Peter Knight, and Charleton Falkner were