"I don't know that even a wolf would tackle a lynx cat," he chuckled.
Douglas looked from the beautiful woman around the homelike room. "You're a lucky chap, Charleton," he said suddenly.
Mrs. Falkner had picked up her sewing-basket. "Nobody with a mind like Charleton's is so awful lucky," she said.
"Ouch!" grinned Charleton, and lighted his pipe afresh.
Douglas pondered on Mrs. Falkner's remark on his way back to the post-office. Peter was sitting on the doorstep with Sister. The mail had been distributed and most of Lost Chief had come and gone.
"That horse is tired, Doug," said Peter. "What have you been doing? Running him to break him?"
"Aw, he's all right," protested Douglas. "Don't climb a tree about him, Peter. I want to talk to you. Make Sister move over."
"Sister," said Peter, "don't you want to go down and speak nice to your old friend Prince?"
Prince, standing before the platform with slavering tongue, bright eyes shining, wagged his tail in a conciliatory manner. Sister sniffed, growled, whimpered, then walked deliberately down the steps and said something to Prince. He barked and they trotted over to the plains east of the post-office.
"She's got a dead coyote she keeps up there for her special friends," said Peter. "What's your trouble, Doug?"
Douglas sat down in Sister's place. "I've been over to see Charleton, and his wife said something that struck me as queer." He repeated Marion's comment.
Peter laughed. "The women in this valley beat any bunch I've seen anywhere. If the men were their equals,
