The quick tears sprang to Judith's eyes; but she said nothing, and Peter went on, "I got your father home on Monday. My guess is that he is ashamed enough of himself to last the rest of his life. That's about the extent of my stories. Have you any casualties to report?"
"Only poor Buster. He lies in a snowdrift up on the other side of Black
Devil. We put in last night at Elijah Nelson's, where we found Mr.
Fowler. Can we stay with you for a while, Peter?"
"You sure can. We can use those rooms upstairs for sleeping. Fine! I'll be glad to have you. You too, Fowler."
"Where's Scott Parsons?" asked Douglas.
"He's still with Inez. Seems like you gave him a bad knock-out. He's having rough going, I can tell you. Inez has turned against him and Grandma Brown had to go over there and take care of him. And she is in no frame of mind to stand anything from anybody." Peter chuckled, then went on. "Charleton says he was in bed and asleep by eleven o'clock Saturday night, and nobody has been able to prove that he wasn't. I don't think there is a doubt in the world that it was Scott and Charleton did the dirty work, but it's going to be hard to prove."
Peter set a kettle of beans on the stove and Judith prepared a pot of coffee.
"Take off your spurs, Fowler," Peter nodded genially at the preacher. "All's well that ends well. I hope that nothing more than your feelings got hurt."
To Peter's utter astonishment Mr. Fowler suddenly laughed heartily.
"My feelings, Peter," he exclaimed, "were never in better trim than they are this minute."
"Nor mine!" agreed Douglas.