"Does she still talk about going the round of the rodeos with a string of buckers?"
"No. She says that was just kid stuff. She has an idea now she'll breed thoroughbred horses." Douglas turned over on his back and gazed up into the heavens, where an eagle hung, motionless.
"Lord! Breeding horses is no work for Jude!" cried Peter.
Douglas did not reply. Peter eyed the young man's clean, hawk-like profile and went on. "What does she say about you and Fowler?"
"She laughs at me."
"Do you think you can get her in touch with Fowler?"
Douglas sat up with a jerk. "Get her in touch with him? Say, what do you think I'm bringing that sky pilot in here for? You can bet she'll get in touch with him! I'll show that girl I haven't played all my cards yet!"
Peter stared long and unblinkingly at Douglas. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered and filled his pipe again.
The summer passed for Douglas with extraordinary rapidity. Profiting by the experience of the previous winter, every rancher put in as heavy a grain crop as he could handle and there was little leisure in the Valley during July and August. Lost Chief was, of course, immensely interested in Doug's building operations. He was accused of planning to be married and conjecture ran rife. When he began work in the interior of the log chapel, he hung burlap bags over the windows and locked the doors. But his precautions were futile. By the middle of June, every ranch in the valley was talking about Douglas Spencer's motion-picture hall and wondered why he was building it so far from the center
