batch of young coyotes that ever lived. They don't respect God, man, nor the devil. And why should they? That's educated into children, not born into them."
"How do you feel about my coming back, Mrs. Brown?" asked Fowler.
Grandma hesitated; then she said, "I'm too old to be polite, James Fowler. I'm a religious woman, myself, and I've often said we'd ought to have a church in Lost Chief. But it isn't men like you can start a church here. You are too religious and too goody-goody."
The preacher winced. Douglas came to his rescue. "We're going to show Lost Chief that he's not goody-goody."
Grandma shook her head. "I wish you luck, but, with all the nerve in the world, you can't preach to them that won't hear."
"Do you know what deviltry they've planned for to-morrow?" asked Douglas.
Grandma shook her head. "All I know is, Scott Parsons is the leader. He sees a chance to get back at you."
Douglas finished his bacon thoughtfully. "All right," he said finally; "let 'em come. I'm waiting."
"Well," said Grandma briskly, "I didn't come up here to give advice. I wanted a gossip with an old-tinker. Mr. Fowler, you was up in Mountain City when that Black Sioux outbreak took place. Did you know Emmy Blake, she that was stolen by old Red Feather?"
"Yes," replied Fowler, with a sudden clearing of his somber fade. "I saw her when—" and he plunged into a tale that, matched by one from Grandma, consumed the evening.
At nine o'clock the old lady rose.
