"I don't know yet," said Douglas; "but we're not going to let him do it, are we, Judith?"
"We certainly are not! That's one reason I want to keep Scott in the Valley. If Scott could get the idea of fighting with his mind instead of his gun, he'd be a good citizen."
Peter grinned at Fowler. "The infants are running the Valley already!
Well, why not? They are the new generation."
"Peter," demanded Judith, "aren't those beans ready yet?"
The postmaster started to his feet. "I suppose you folks are hungry.
Judith, you set the table. Doug, did you feed the horses well? It's going to be a bitter-cold night."
"Yes, we took care of them," replied Douglas, absent-mindedly, his eyes on Judith.
"Did you?" Peter turned to Fowler. "I sha'n't take Doug's word about anything that's happened subsequent to the ceremony."
"I think you're wise," nodded the preacher. "But as a matter of fact, we did feed them. Shall I put the chairs up?"
"Go ahead," said Peter, setting the pot of beans in the middle of the table.
Then, as they gathered around the table, the preacher hesitated, looked from one face to another, and asked, "Do you mind if I say grace?"
"No," replied Peter firmly, "we don't mind. You can say grace, make signs, or do anything else that will help you hang on in the big fight you've got ahead of you. I'll say it too, if it will strengthen your hands."
Mr. Fowler shook his head, smiled, and covering his eyes, poured out his heart to the Almighty.
THE END