"Some old wolf, her dad, I've heard," Peter went on.
"He was," agreed the sheriff. "He ran the valley and he ran it right.
Every Fourth of July he made a speech about making Lost Chief the
Plymouth Rock of the West."
Charleton Falkner roared. "I remember those speeches!"
Peter was grinning. "But in spite of them, from what I've heard I believe he came mighty near being a great man, old Bill Douglas."
"What did he lack?" demanded Douglas suddenly.
"Religion!" answered Peter, promptly.
"Religion? What's that?" asked John with a guffaw. "You never had any,
Peter."
"Right!" agreed Peter. "Worse luck for me that I didn't have that kind of a mind. But I know any kind of a social idea fails without it. And I know if old Bill Douglas had built a church up there beside the schoolhouse, the chances are that Scott wouldn't have plugged Douglas last night. And mind, I don't believe in God, or the hereafter, or any of the dope they drug you with."
"What the hell are you driving at, Peter?" demanded Charleton.
"Say," shouted John, "is this a trial or a sermon?"