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. "You'd better go see that nothing happens, Doug," said Mary Spencer. "John's drunk too much." "I'm going home," declared Douglas. "I got some pride, and Judith's treated me like a dog to-night. She's too fond of starting something she don't know the finish of." Mary and he were riding alone in the dawn. "You promised me you'd look out for her. Don't you care for her any more, Douglas?" "Yes, I do!" "Have you ever told her so?" "She's too young." "No, she isn't, Douglas. You remember you told me she knew more than I do." Douglas said nothing; and after a moment, his step-mother said, hesitatingly, "Doug, I hate to see you dancing so much with Inez." "What harm was there in it?" "I don't know that I can tell you, Doug. When I was a girl, going to the log schoolhouse, we girls never thought of touching whiskey. Our mothers would have killed us if we had." "The world do move!" grunted Douglas. "I don't believe it's the world. Not from the books I read. I think it's just Lost Chief. The old folks in my day had real influence in the valley. There were many like Grandma Brown. But now! Why, your father will never be the good influence his father was, and I'd never be like Grandma. I don't know why." "You can't even train your own daughter," said Douglas with entire frankness. "Can the other mothers?" asked Mary resentfully. "What can I do when the other mothers are so easy?" "It ain't exactly easy." Douglas spoke thoughtfully. "The Lord knows, all the kids in Lost Chief work hard enough and get walloped enough." Mary sighed deeply. Douglas watched her face, so like Judith's but bearing tragic lines it would have broken his heart to see around Judith's young lips. With unwonted gentleness he leaned over to put his hand on Mary's while he smiled at her half sadly. "Poor Mother! We are an ornery lot! But you are as good as gold, and Jude and I both know it!" Quick tears stung Mary's gray eyes. She lifted his hand to her cheek for a moment, then, as he drew it away, she tried to return his smile. But nothing more was said until they reached home. Just as they entered the living-room, Judith rushed in, "I hate Dad! I hate him! Scott and I were jogging home by way of the west trail as peaceful as anything when Dad has to come along and start a row going!" "Anybody hurt?" asked Douglas, watching Judith as she sat down on the edge of her bed, big tears on her cheeks. "No, but no thanks to Dad! Scott turned round and left because I asked him to. There's Dad now!" John clanked in, but before he could speak Judith rose and shook her forefinger in his face. "Now, Dad," she said steadily, "there's going to be no rowing and no cursing. I'm sick of it! Right here and now I warn you to stop interfering with me or I'll leave!" John raised his ready fist.