Douglas lighted a cigarette while Peter filled his pipe.

"What are you planning to do with yourself now you're through school,
Douglas?"

"Ride for Dad."

"How'd you like to go East to school?"

"Nothing doing! I've got more education now than I'll need as a rancher."

"Well, I guess that's not particularly so," said Peter. "I was
thinking--you know I'm alone in the world--that I might help you out if
you had any leaning toward college or a profession."

"Ranching is good enough for me, thank you all the same, Peter."

For some moments Peter did not speak again. Coyotes wailed in the peaks
above them. The moon showed more of its golden face.

"Does your father ever talk to you about your own mother, Doug?"

"No; I quit asking him questions years ago. Peter, all I know about my
mother is that her name was Esther, that the smallpox wiped her folks
out, and that they owned the north half of our ranch. There's an old
photograph of her in Dad's bureau drawer. She was awful pretty."

"She was more than that, Doug! I knew her well. You see, I'm the only man
in the valley that's a stranger, as you might say. I've only lived here
twenty years. So I could appreciate your mother more than the natives.