Throughout the night the tree blazed unseen. Judith's eyes were closed
in the heavy sleep of exhaustion. The flames roared and leaped high
skyward, burning branches felt crashingly, to lie smouldering on the
rocky soil, the upstanding trunk glowed, vivid against the sky-line.
In the early morning at least two pairs of eyes found the plume of
smoke above the still burning giant pine. A man named Greene, one of
the government forest rangers, blazing a new trail over Devil's Ridge,
came out upon a height, saw it and watched it frowningly across the
miles. It called him to a hard ride, perhaps to a difficult journey on
foot after he must leave his horse. He turned promptly from the work
in hand, ran to his horse, swung up and sped back to his cabin, to
telephone to the nearest station, passing the word. Then with axe and
shovel, he began his slow way toward the beacon.
Bud Lee, from the mountain-top where he and Burkitt had taken Hampton,
saw it. Lee judged roughly that it was separated from him by four or
five miles of broken country, impassable to a man on horseback, to be
covered laboriously foot in a matter of weary hours.
Lee and Greene approached the signal smoke from different quarters.
Lee from the west, Greene from the northeast. They fought their way on
toward it with far different emotions in their breasts. Greene with
the desire to do a day's work and kill a forest-fire in its beginning.
Lee with the passionate hope of finding Judith. Lee reached his
journey's end first.
As he came pantingly up the last climb he discharged his rifle again
and again, to tell her that he was coming, to put hope into her. And,
because he was a lover and a lover must be filled with dread when she
is out of his sight, he felt a growing anxiety. She had lighted the
fire last night; what might have happened to her since then? Had she
been wandering, lost all these days? If nothing else, then had she
waited here half the night and in the end had she gone on plunging deep
into some cañon hidden to him? Would he find her well? Would he find
her at all?
Suddenly he called out, shouting mightily, and began running, though
the way was steep. He had seen Judith, he had found her. She was
standing among the scattered boulders, her back to a great rock. She
was waving to him. Her lips were moving, though he could not see that
yet, could not hear her tremulous:
"Oh, thank God, thank God!"
"Judith," he called, "Judith!"
Now, near enough to see her distinctly, he saw that her face was white,
that the hand she held out was shaking, that her clothes were torn,
that she looked pitifully in need of him. But at last, when he stood
at her side, one of the old rare smiles came into Judith's tired eyes,
her lips curved, and she said quietly:
"Good morning, Bud Lee. You were very good--to come to me."
"Oh, Judith," he cried sharply. But no other word came to his lips
then. The brave little smile had gone, the whiteness of her face smote
him to the heart. And now she was shaking from head to foot, and he
knew why she had not stepped out to meet him, why she had kept her back
to the rock. He thought that she was going to fall, he saw two big
tears start from the suddenly closed eyelids, and with a little
inarticulate cry he took her into his arms.
"If you had not come, Bud Lee," she whispered faintly, "I should have
died, I think."
Very tenderly he gathered her up so that her little boots were swung
clear of the flinty ground and she lay quiet in his arms. He stood a
moment holding her thus, looking with eyes alternately hard and tender
into her face. He wanted to hold her thus always, to watch the glad
color come back into her cheeks, to carry her, like a baby, back across
the weary miles and home. And, oddly, perhaps, the thought came back
to him and hurt him as it had never hurt him before, that he had once
been brutal with her, that he had crushed her in his arms and forced
upon her lips his kiss. He had been brutal with Judith, when now he
could kill a man for laying a little finger on her.
"I have been a brute with you, a brute," he muttered to himself. But
Judith heard him, her eyes fluttered open and into them came again her
glorious smile.
"Because you kissed me that night, Bud Lee?" she asked him.
"Don't!" he cried sharply. "Don't even remember it, Judith."
"Do you know so little of a girl, Bud Lee," she went on slowly, "to
think that a man can so easily--find her lips with his unless--unless
she wants to be kissed?"
He almost doubted his ears; he could hardly believe that he had seen
what he had seen in Judith's eyes. They were closed now, she lay quiet
in his arms, it seemed that she had fainted, or, was asleep, so very
white and still was she. He had forgotten that he must carry her to
where he could lay her down and bring water to her, give her something
to eat. He just stood motionless, holding her to him, staring hungrily
down at her.
"Are you going to play--I'm your baby--all day, Bud Lee?" she asked
softly.
He carried her swiftly away from the ring of boulders and to a little
grassy, level spot where he put her down with lingering tenderness.
Judith had not been angry with him all these months! Judith had let
him kiss her because she wanted to be kissed--by him!
He raked some coals out of the ashes, hastily set some slices of bacon
to fry, cursed himself for not having brought coffee and milk and sugar
and a steak and a flask of whiskey and enough other articles to load a
mule. He ran down into the cañon and brought water in his hat,
swearing at himself all the way up that he had not brought a cup. He
put his arm about her while she drank; kept his arm about her, kneeling
at her side, while he gave her a little, crisp slice of bacon, held his
arm there when she had finished, watching her solicitously.
"The two nicest things in the world, Mr. Man," she said, with a second
attempt at the old Judith brightness, "are half-burnt bacon and Bud
Lee!"
Then, because, though he had been slow to believe, he was not a fool,
and now did believe, he kissed her. And Judith's lips met his
lingeringly. Judith's two arms rose, slipped about his neck, holding
him tight to her.
The faintest of flushes had come at last into a her cheeks. He saw it
and grew glad as he held her so that he could look into her face. But
now she laid a hand against his breast, holding him back from her.
"That's all now," she told him, her eyes soft upon him. "Just one kiss
for each slice of bacon, Mr. Lee. But--I'm so hungry!"
For a little there was nothing to do but for Judith to rest and get
some of her strength back. Lee made of his coat and vest a seat for
her against a rock, sat at her side, his arm about her, made her lean
against him and just be happy. Not yet would he let her tell him of
the horrors through which she had gone. And he saw no need of telling
her anything immediately of conditions as he had left them at the
ranch. Time enough for that when she was stronger, when they were near
Blue Lake.
Greene, the forester, came at last up the mountain. He noted the
isolated tree, nodded at it approvingly, made a brief tour around the
charred circle, extinguishing a burning brand here and there.
"What sort of a fool would want to climb way up here to start a fire,
anyway?" he grumbled.
Then, unexpectedly, he came upon the happiest-looking man he had ever
seen, with his arms about an amazingly pretty girl. Not just the sort
of thing a lone forest ranger counts upon stumbling upon on the top of
a mountain. Greene stared in bewilderment. Bud Lee turning a flaming
red. Judith smiled.
"Good morning, stranger," said Lee. "Fine day, isn't it?"
Judith laughed. Greene continued to stare. Lee went a trifle redder.
"If you two folks just started that fire for fun," grunted Greene
finally, "why, then, all I've got to say is you've got a blamed queer
idea of fun. Here I've been busting myself wide open to get to it."
"Haven't got a flask of brandy on you, have you?" asked Lee.
"Yes, I have. And what's more I'm going to take a shot at it right
now. If nobody asks you, I need it!"
Now, Lee heard for the first time something of Judith's adventure.
For, recognizing the ranger in Greene, she told him swiftly why she had
started the fire, of her trouble with Quinnion, of the cave where
Quinnion had attacked her and of Mad Ruth. Greene's eyes lighted with
interest. He swept off his hat and came forward, suddenly apologetic
and very human, proffering his brandy, insisting with Lee upon her
taking a sip of it.
Yes, he knew Mad Ruth, he knew where her cabin was. He could find the
cave from Judith's description. Also, he knew of Quinnion and would be
delighted to break a record getting back to his station and to White
Rock. White Rock was in the next county, but so, for that matter, was
the cave. He'd get the sheriff and would lose no time cornering
Quinnion if the man had not already slipped away.
"I don't know you two real well," said Greene, with a quick smile at
the end, "but if you don't mind, pardner," and he put out his hand to
Lee, "I'd like to congratulate you! I don't know a man that's quite as
lucky this morning as you are!"
"Thank you," laughed Judith. She rose and shook hands too. "We're at
Blue Lake ranch for the present. Come and see us."
"Then you're Miss Sanford?" said Greene. He laughed. "I've heard of
you more than once. Greene's my name."
"Lee's mine," offered Lee.
"Bud Lee, eh? Oh, you two will do! So long, friends. I'm off to look
up Quinnion."
And, swinging his axe blithely, Greene took his departure.
"There are other things in the world besides just cliffs to stare at,"
said Judith. "And I would like a bath and a change of clothes and a
chance to brush my hair. And the bacon doesn't taste so good as it did
and I want an apple and a glass of milk."
So at last they left the mountain-top and made their slow way down.
As they went Lee told her something of what had happened at the ranch,
how Carson would hold off the buyers, how Tommy Burkitt was assuming
charge of Pollock Hampton. And when they came near enough to Burkitt's
and Hampton's hiding-place, Lee fired a rifle several times to get
Burkitt's attention. Finally they saw the boy, standing against the
sky upon a big rock, waving to them. From Lee's shouts, from his
gestures, chiefly from the fact that Judith was there, Burkitt
understood and freed Hampton, the two of them coming swiftly down a to
Judith and Lee.
Hampton's face was hot with the anger which had grown overnight. He
came on stiffly, chafing his wrists.
"These two fools," he snapped to Judith, "have made an awful mess of
things. They've queered the deal with Doan, Rockwell & Haight, they've
made themselves liable to prosecution for holding me against my will,
they've----"
"Wait a minute, Pollock," said Judith quietly. "It's you who have made
a mistake."
Briefly, she told him what had happened. As word after word of her
account fell upon Hampton's ears, his eyes widened, the stiffness of
his bearing fell away, the glint of anger went out of his eyes, a look
of wonder came into them. And when she had finished, Hampton did not
hesitate. He turned quickly and put out two hands, one to Lee, one to
Burkitt.
"I was a chump, same as usual," he grunted. "Forget it if you can. I
can't."
They went on more swiftly now, the four of them together, Judith
insisting that that last sip of brandy had put new life into her. In a
little, seeing that Judith did in fact have herself in hand, Bud Lee,
with a hidden pressure of her hand, left them, hurrying on ahead,
trying to reach Carson or some of the men in Pocket Valley and to get
horses.
As he drew nearer the ranch Lee saw smoke rising from the north ridge.
Again he could turn his thoughts a little to what lay in front of him,
wondering what luck Carson had had in his double task of fighting fire
and holding off the buyers.
At any rate, the Blue Lake stock had not been driven off. The bawling
of the big herds told him that before he saw the countless tossing
horns. Then, dropping down into Pocket Valley from above, he found his
own string of horses feeding quietly. Beyond, the cattle. At first he
thought that the animals had been left to their own devices. He saw no
rider anywhere. Hurrying on, he shouted loudly. After he had called
repeatedly, there floated to him from somewhere down on the lower flat
an answering yell. And presently Carson himself came riding to meet
him.
Carson's face was smeared with blood; one bruised, battered, discolored
eye was swelling shut, but in his uninjured eye there was triumphant
gladness.
"We got the sons-o'-guns on the run, Bud," he announced from afar.
"Killed their pesky fires out before they got a good start, crippled a
couple of 'em, counting Benny, the cook, in on the deal, chased their
deputy sheriff off with a flea in his ear, an' set tight, holding our
own."
"Where'd you get the eye, Carson?" demanded Lee.
Carson grinned broadly, an evil grin of a distorted, battered face.
"You want to take a good look at ol' Poker Face," he chuckled. "He
won't cheat no more games of crib for a coon's age. I jus' nacherally
beat him all to hell, Bud."
"Where are the rest of the men?" Lee asked.
"Watching the fires an' seeing no more don't get started."
Then Lee told him of Judith. Carson's good eye opened wide with
interest. Carson's bruised lips sought to form for a whistle which
managed to give them the air of a maidenly pout.
"He had the nerve!" he muttered. "Trevors had the nerve! Bud, we
ought to make a little call on that gent."
Then, seeing Lee's face, Carson realized that anything he might have to
remark on this score was superfluous. Lee had already thought of that.
They roped a couple of the wandering horses, improvised hackamores from
the rope cut in two, and went to meet Judith. Carson snatched eagerly
at her hand and squeezed it and looked inexpressible things from his
one useful eye. He gave his saddled horse to her, watched her and Lee
ride on to the ranch, and sent Tommy to the old cabin for another rope,
while he rounded up some more horses in a narrow cañon for Burkitt and
Hampton.
"You damn' fool," he said growlingly to Hampton, "look what you've
done."
"Of course I'm a damn fool," replied Hampton, by now his old cheerful
self. "I've apologized to Judith and Lee and Burkitt. I apologize to
you. I'll tell you confidentially that I'm a sucker and a
Come-on-Charlie. I haven't got the brains of a jack-rabbit."
Carson went away grumbling. But for the first time he felt a vague
respect for Pollock Hampton.
"He'll be a real man some day," thought Carson, "if the fool-killer
don't pick him off first."
"You may come and see me this evening," Judith told Bud Lee as he left
her to Marcia's arms. "I'll be eating and sleeping and taking baths
until then. Thank you for the bacon--and the water--and----"
She smiled at him from Marcia's excited embrace. Bud Lee, the blood
tingling through him, left her.
"Before I come to you, Judith girl," he whispered to himself as he
went, "I'll have to have little talk with Bayne Trevors."