schoolhouse stood. Dead Line Peak and Falkner's Peak abruptly closed the
south end of the valley. From between these two great mountains, Lost
Chief Creek swept down across the valley into the Black Gorge. Lost Chief
Range formed the west boundary of the valley, Indian Range, the east.
They were perhaps ten miles apart.

All this gives little of the picture Douglas might have been absorbing.
It tells nothing of the azure hue of the snow that buried Lost Chief
Creek and Lost Chief ranches. It gives no hint of the awful splendor of
Dead Line and Falkner's Peaks, all blue and bronze and crimson, backed by
myriads of other peaks, pure white, against the perfect sky.

It does not picture the brilliant yellow canyon wall which thrust Lost
Chief Range back from the valley, nor the peacock blue sides of the
Indian Range, clothed in wonder by the Forest Reserve. And finally, it
does not tell of the infinite silence that lay this prismatic Sunday
afternoon over the snow-cloaked world.

Douglas did not see the beauty of the valley, but as, far below, he saw
Judith trot up to the Day's corral, he was smitten suddenly by his sense
of loneliness. Too bad of Jude, he thought, always to be flying off at a
tangent like that! A guy couldn't offer the least criticism of her fool
horse, that she didn't lose her temper. Funny thing to see a girl with a
hot temper. Ordinary enough in a man, but girls were usually just mean
and spitty, like cats. A guy had to admit that there was nothing mean
about Judith. She was fearless and straight like a first-class fellow.
But temper! Whew! Funny things, tempers! He himself always found it hard
to let go of his rage. It smouldered deep and biting inside of him and
hard to get out into words. He usually had to tell himself to hit back.
Funny about that, when his father was always boiling over like Judith.