"I'd hate to let a woman make putty of me like that," sneered Scott. "Let me have my shooting-iron, Doug." Douglas had broken the revolver and unloaded it. He gave it back, receiving the lead ropes of the two animals in return, and Scott trotted away. "I'm much obliged to you, Scott!" shrieked Judith. "I'll ride up and tell you all about it, some day." Scott waved his hand but did not look back. John, still holding Judith's wrists, suddenly drew her to him and kissed her full on the lips. Then, with a laugh, he freed her and returned to his breakfast. Douglas swore under his breath and turned the uneasy Sioux and Whoop-la into the corral. The day went forward as if nothing had happened. That night, Charleton and John appeared at the post-office gathering for the first time since the birth of Little Marion's baby. Only Peter had the intrepidity to comment on recent events. "I didn't want Judith to go alone with you to Mountain City, John," he said. "But, all the same, that was a rotten deal you gave her." "She's a disobedient little hussy," John's voice was truculent, "and it was the only way I could get at her." "You mean the fight she put up to help Little Marion?" demanded Peter. "O, dry up, Peter!" exclaimed Charleton. "Me, I'm sick of the sound of a woman's name. They're all alike, ungrateful minxes." "Ungrateful is the word," agreed Peter grimly. "But I'd like to know just what Marion was under obligation to you for?" Charleton did not reply. "When are they going to be married?" asked Peter, after a moment. "First of the month. We'll give 'em a party up here in the hall that Lost Chief will never forget. John, do you ride to-morrow?" "Yes, Charleton. Everybody's reported but you." "I'll be there. Start from your place, as usual?" John nodded, and the rest of the evening was given over to a discussion of details of the round-up. The fall round-up was always a long and arduous affair. The cattle were scattered all through the ranges covered by the Forest Reserve. Slowly and with infinite labor and skill, they were sought out and herded down into Hidden Gorge Canyon, below Fire Mesa. Thence, they were driven to the plains east of the post-office, where the riders cut out their own cattle. The weather held for two weeks, star-brilliant at night, with the low of mother-cows separated from their calves from mountain to mountain, with the crisp wind bringing down the frosted leaves of the aspens, and at noon the hot dust swirling up from the horses' hoofs into the sweating faces of the riders.