such!"

Douglas grinned delightedly. "Do you really mean it? Why, you know,
Charleton, as well as I do, there isn't a young rider in Lost Chief who
wouldn't give anything to go out on trips with you."

"Fine! I'll be tipping you the wink one of these days. In the meantime,
keep your mouth shut to every one but your father. Come in and we'll have
a drink on the new partnership."

Douglas had as yet acquired no great taste for such fiery pollutions as
the pail contained. But Charleton now applied himself so strenuously to
the business of getting drunk that shortly he was leaning on the
phonograph and reciting with powerful lungs:

"'Tis but a tent where takes his one day's rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises and the dark Ferrash
Strikes and prepares it for another Guest."

No one heeded him particularly. He smiled amiably at Peter, leaned
farther on the machine, and said, "Somebody will have to ease me to my
horse," then he drowsed forward over the phonograph. Douglas and Peter,
laughing, eased him to his horse, and Charleton, his arms around
Democrat's neck, jogged slowly off on the home trail.

June dawn was peering over the Indian Range when the party broke up.
Scott disappeared with Judith. When John discovered this, he bolted after
the two.