--_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?"

The old lady held the lantern up to his face. "Come into the cow stable
out of the wind, Doug."

Within the dim shelter she hung the lantern on a nail and sat down on a
box, indicating another to the young rider.

"Yes, I believed it, boy. Didn't you?"

"No, Grandma! And none of the men do that count in this valley. Is it
just old woman stuff, like they say?"