There still was too much frost in the ground for spring work on the ranch and it would be a month before the cattle could be driven up into the Reserve. It was during this month that Douglas had planned to put up two cabins on his ranch, one for the church, the other for himself and Fowler to occupy. He had accumulated a sufficient number of logs to more than supply his needs and he had counted on his father's help in erecting the buildings. He wondered now if Peter would help him, and old Johnny Brown. That afternoon he rode down to the post-office. Peter was breathlessly interested. "You'd better keep it quiet, Doug, till the old man gets here," he said. "If you get old Johnny up there, don't give him an inkling." Douglas nodded. "Then I can count on you, Peter?" The postmaster eyed the young rider keenly. John Spencer had never been the man his son had grown to be! "Do you mean count on me for the plan or the cabins?" asked Peter. "Both!" "Yes, you can, Douglas! I don't know whether the plan is a good one or not. But I'm delighted to see you taking a step like this. It's gratifying to me, Doug. It is indeed; and I know your mother would have been delighted." Peter's voice broke, and he said harshly, "Now, get along, Doug. I've got to sort the mail." For the first time that day, Douglas' lips wore a little smile. He whistled to Prince, who had grown too lazy of late to propitiate Sister as he had in his younger days and who was keeping that growling old Amazon at her distance by snapping at her viciously. Prince lunged over to Pard's heels and Doug started off for his call on Johnny Brown. "I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" asked old Johnny. "It's been a gregus long time and I'm only half-muscled as well as half-witted now. But I'll come. I'd help you build a cabin in hell if you wanted me to. Honest, I would, Doug." Douglas did not laugh. "Thanks, Johnny! Then I'll look for you to-morrow." "I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" repeated the old fellow, and he was still deponing when Douglas started homeward. Peter inveigled Young Jeff into taking the post-office for a couple of weeks. Post-office keeping did not accord at all with the ideas of pleasant living of the native-born of Lost Chief. Undoubtedly if Peter had not offered his services year after year there would have been, a great part of the time, no post-office in the Valley. But Peter had means of his own with which to piece out the salary and for some inscrutable reason he clung to the sort of prestige he enjoyed in the community as a Federal employee. His friends always protested violently at substituting for him, but always gave in, fearful lest Peter carry out his threat of giving up the job. So he appeared at Douglas' ranch, bright and early, bringing a graphic account of Young Jeff's despair over a pile of second-class mail.