"So am I. But it's only poor old Oscar, after all, who's been our next-door neighbor all our lives. We can't leave him here alone, like a dead horse. We'll take him home. That's what Dad or any of the men would do. Come on, Jude." They established poor Oscar on the floor of the buckboard, among the mail bags. They hitched up James and Oscar's big black, and tied Swift to the tail end. All this time the moon shone coldly on the white hills, and the coyotes howled nearer and nearer. "Cover him deep with the quilts, Doug," whispered Judith. "I'm going to make up a pot of hot coffee, before we start." "How about that mule?" whispered Douglas. "Let it go plumb to hell!" returned Judith. "Scott's the one should have been shot, for sending you out with such a brute!" "If it hadn't been for the mule, we'd never have found him," muttered Douglas. It was not much after eleven when the two, huddled together on the seat of the buckboard, started back for Lost Chief. The cold was so intense that they were obliged to take turns driving. When the road permitted, they walked until even their hardy lungs demanded rest. Then they huddled together again, their knees touching the dashboard, lest Oscar's poor dead feet should thrust against theirs. They talked very little except to guess as to the probable name of the murderer. Toward dawn, when the moon had set and Douglas was trusting the trail to the horses, he said: "Do you remember at the schoolhouse Sunday, when Charleton said he didn't believe in a hereafter, old Jeff chimed in and said, 'Me too'?" "I remember," replied Judith. "What do you suppose Jeff thinks about it now?" "He ain't thinking. He's gone. There's no hereafter. Dad says so." Judith huddled still closer. "Isn't it horrible!" shuddered Douglas. "Horrible!" Judith began to cry again. "If there was just a heaven," she sobbed, "I wouldn't mind living or dying either." "Well, there isn't any." Douglas heaved a great sigh. "I wonder if they hang kids as young as us for murder?" "Let them try hanging me, just once! That's all I've got to say!" exclaimed Judith stoutly, in spite of her chattering teeth. "The worst I ever did to Oscar Jefferson was to play bucking bronco on that old milch cow, Jinny, of his. And she sure-gawd could buck! But I was only a little girl then and I can prove it." "Looks as if we might be in real trouble to me!" muttered Douglas. "It's growing daylight and there's the Pass, at last!" suddenly cried Judith. Douglas drew a deep breath and urged on the weary horses. It was full nine o'clock when the team drew up at the post-office door. At Doug's halloo, Peter Knight appeared. Sister crowded out the door past him, pricked her ears forward and ran to sniff at the rear of the buckboard. "What on earth brings you back at this hour?" demanded Peter. "Trouble!" Douglas moistened his frost-cracked lips. "Oscar Jefferson was shot last night. We got his body here." "Who shot him?" asked Peter. "We don't know."