The heaviest ranch work of the year was now at hand. The hay harvest was
begun. From dawn until dusk, Doug and Judith worked in the fields and
tumbled to bed at night as soon as the chores were done. They had many
opportunities during the day for conversations, however, for after the
hay was raked, Douglas and Judith drove one rick team, John and old
Johnny Brown the other. Heavy work it certainly was, but work of what
fragrance, under skies of what an unbelievably deep blue, in air of what
tingling warmth and clearness! What unthinkable distances were glimpsed
from the wild hay patch on the flank of Dead Line Peak! It seemed to
Douglas, lying at length, chin elbow-supported, on the top of the last
load, which Judith had insisted on driving, that he never before had
sensed the beauty of the haying season in Lost Chief Valley. And again
he seemed to see Inez's tragic eyes, which had shed tears over the beauty
of these very hills. He turned the memory of those eyes over in his mind
with a memory of the sardonic twist of Charleton's mouth as he had
uttered his philosophy of life, and suddenly Doug wished that he dared
to talk to his father about these things. He had asked John about the
Emerson letters but John professed never to have heard of them. And
Douglas fell to wondering about his grandfather's dream for Lost Chief.

They were pulling through the swamp road above the home corral. It was
heavy going and when they reached the shade of a little clump of blue
spruce and aspen, Judith pulled the team up for a short rest. She pushed
her broad straw hat back from her face and half turned to look at
Douglas.

"Have you seen that new litter of pups of Sister's?" she asked Douglas.

He shook his head and Judith went on. "Peter says I can have the pick of