THE HUNT ON LOST CHIEF
"A guy that don't rustle cattle when the rustling is good, is a fool."
--_Scott Parsons_.
One hot afternoon in August Douglas had just unhitched the panting team
from the plow in the new oat field when Charleton Falkner trotted up on
Democrat.
"How's the fall plowing, Doug?"
"Just out of the woods, Charleton."
"Your father says he can spare you for a day or two. I wish you'd come
down to my place to-night. I'm planning a trip. I don't suppose John
would loan you Beauty for a couple of days?"
Douglas shook his head.
"Well," Charleton went on, "I guess Buster can stand up under the work."
"Buster belongs to Judith now. I've been trying to get time to break that
dapple gray Young Jeff gave me, after the trial. He's a good horse.
Darned if I don't think I can ride him now!"
"I know that horse and he is a good one," agreed Charleton. "Ride the
young moose if you can stick on him. You'll need all his wind and limb on
this trip!" and Charleton trotted away.
It was full starlight that night when Douglas freed his feet from the
stirrups before Charleton's door and jumped like lightning from the
saddle. His horse jumped with him, landing in the kitchen as Douglas
brought up against the door-jamb. There was a roar of laughter from
within, and as the horse lunged backward out of the door, Charleton
appeared.
"So you and the moose are here! Better hobble him, Doug!"
Douglas laughed and tied the rearing horse to a hayrack. Then he followed
Charleton into the kitchen. Scott Parsons was sitting by the table, hat
on the back of his head, spurred boots on the cold stove hearth. Mrs.
Falkner was just finishing the supper dishes. She greeted Douglas with
a tired smile.
Douglas, with a resentful glance at Scott, shifted his gun belt, shoved
his own hat to the back of his head, and sat down. Mrs. Falkner pitched
the dish water out the back door and went into the next room.
"Well, fellows," said Charleton cheerfully, as he tipped back his chair
and established his spurs beside Scott's, "there's a neat little job on
the horizon. You both know the big canyon beyond Lost Chief Peak, that
has the little creek that disappears under the range?"
The young men nodded, and Charleton continued.
"A Mormon named Elijah Nelson has settled there. I'm not certain of all
he intends to do but I know this much: He's to homestead that canyon up
there and hog the water rights on the creek. He's to be followed by nine
other Mormon families. Some of 'em are going to raise cattle in the
canyon. Some of 'em are going into the sheep business in the plains
country beyond the canyon, where we Lost Creek folks have been in the
habit of wintering our herd when the snow's too deep here. Some of us
older Lost Chief men realize that these folks are the beginning of a
march of Mormons up from Utah to run us Lost Chief folks out. And we're
going to harry them till they are sick of living. Mormons and sheep must
keep out of this country."
Douglas' eyes burned and his breath came quickly. Scott's hard young eyes
did not flicker.
"We're going to ride over the range to-morrow night and the next morning
gather up what we can of Nelson's herd that's grazing on Lost Chief.
We'll bring 'em to a certain place I know of. I'll divide half to me,
the other half to you two. Are you game?"
"I sure am," said Scott. "How many do you think we can gather in?"
"Not so many on one trip. Perhaps fifteen if we have good luck. A big
herd leaves a big trail."
"There's an old corral up near the Government elevation monument," said
Douglas. "It's all overgrown with bushes and young aspens so's I don't
think one person out of twenty, knows it's there. Maybe we could corral
'em there?"
Charleton gave Douglas a quick glance. "How'd you come to know about it?"
"I happened on it last summer tracking a bear."
"That's what I planned to use," nodded Charleton. "We'll make a real
cowman out of you yet. So you're ready to go, Doug?"
Douglas' eyes were blazing. "Go! You couldn't pay me enough to keep me
away! Nothing ever happens in this old valley."
"All right! Be here by nine o'clock to-morrow night, wearing chaps. It'll
be rough riding and that Moose of yours will be quite considerably broke
by the time we get back, Doug. I'll supply the grub."
"Fine!" said Scott, rising. "If that's all, I'll be running along. Stage
was late to-night and the crowd'll be there getting mail. I'll be with
you on time, Charleton."
"Me too!" exclaimed Douglas, following Scott.
Weary as he was, Douglas was long in getting to sleep that night.
Charleton Falkner was deeply admired by all the young men of Lost
Chief. Not only was he of the ultra-sophisticated type, dear to
adolescence, not only was he by far the cleverest hunter in the valley,
but, most important of all, his name was whispered in connection with
horse and cattle deals, never called questionable by Lost Chief but
always mentioned with a wink and a chuckle for their adroitness. To have
been asked by Charleton to go as a partner on one of his mysterious trips
was intoxicating enough to take the sting out of the fact that Scott met
Judith that evening at the post-office and rode home with her.
The next day Judith several times tried to discover where Doug was going
and with whom.
"Don't you try tagging me again, like you did on the trip to the half-way
house," he said with a warning grin, when they were finishing the evening
chores together.
"No danger! I got a date of my own!" This with a toss of her curly head.
"Who with?"
"Don't you wish you knew! Other folks beside you can have interesting
deals, Mr. Douglas Spencer!"
"Huh! Some little stunt with Maud, I suppose."
"No, it isn't either. Say, Doug, did you know Maud is going up to
Mountain City to stay with her aunt and go to school there?"
"I suppose that's what you'd like to do?" Doug watched the eager face
closely.
"Well, not just now," replied Judith with a little grin. "I want to keep
my date, first."
"Well, don't get into mischief, daughter; that's all I have to say about
your mysterious deal," said Douglas paternally.
Judith laughed and carried her pail of milk into the kitchen.
It was after ten o'clock that night when Charleton led his two young
henchman along the west trail, past Rodman's and up the canyon toward
the first shoulder of Lost Chief Peak. The Moose did not approve of
the trip. He showed his disapproval by plunging and side jumping with
nerve-racking persistency. Ginger and Democrat gave him ample turning
room, biting or kicking him if he drew too near them. Midway in the
canyon Charleton left the trail and turned abruptly to the left, up
the sheer shoulder of the mountain.
"Need a hazer, Doug?" he called.
"Where are you going to camp, Charleton?" laughed Douglas, as the Moose
refused the trail.
"On the west shoulder of the peak, just under the elevation monument."
"I'll find you there. I may be delayed for a while!"
Charleton laughed too. "Just so you get there by dawn!" he called; and
Douglas saw the two figures, dim in the starlight, move upward on the
barren shoulder of the mountain. He allowed the Moose to circle for a
moment, then he drove the rowells deep. The snorting horse leaped up the
steep incline, at a pace that shortly left him groaning for breath. But
Douglas spurred him relentlessly to the far tree line. Here he permitted
him to breathe while he listened to the receding thud of hoofs above.
When his horse had ceased to groan, Douglas turned him toward the dark
shadow of the forest. The Moose reared and turned, falling heavily. Doug
was out of the saddle when it cracked against the gravel and in it when
the trembling horse rolled to his feet. Doug brought the knotted reins
smartly across the animal's reeking flanks.
The Moose bolted. Doug laughed and swore and for a time made no effort
to guide his mount. The Moose leaped fallen trunks and low bushes. He
jumped black abysses. He thrashed into trees and rocks. But he could not
dislodge the figure that clung to his back with knee and spur. Douglas
did not know how long this mad fight lasted, but he was beginning to be
exhausted, himself, when the Moose stopped on the edge of a black drop.
The horse was shaking and groaning.
"Now listen here, you Moose," said Douglas. "If you expect to be friends
with me, you've got to begin to show some interest in me. I sure do
admire your speed and your nerve. You're a better horse than Buster,
and I don't want to break you more than I have to. But how about showing
interest in me? I'm here to stay, you know, so you might as well begin to
put me in your calculations. Now, just to show you're a changed horse,
suppose you push up here to the right. I think there's a clear space
there where I can see the stars and locate ourselves."
The Moose turned slowly under the rein, and carried Doug cleverly into an
open park. Here Doug studied the brilliant heavens.
"We'll just move south, old Moose," he announced, "climbing uphill all
the time, till we run into something."
The Moose worked steadily enough now, but it seemed a long time to
Douglas before he saw the faint glare of a fire through the trees.
Charleton and Scott looked up grinning as he rode into the circle of
light. Wide bare patches showed on Doug's chaps. One sleeve of his
flannel shirt was hanging by a thread. His face was bleeding from many
scratches, but he grinned amicably as he slid wearily from the saddle.
"Hello, Doug! Is your horse broke yet?" asked Charleton.
"Some," replied Douglas.
"We thought we heard you a while back!" said Scott. "Sounded as if a
grizzly had been bitten by a hydrophobia skunk."
"He ain't as nervous as he was," grinned Douglas. "Anything to drink?"
Charleton indicated the coffee-pot and said, "It's only a short time to
dawn. Better get what sleep you can!"
Douglas nodded, drank a tin cup of coffee, and then unsaddled the Moose.
Scott, rolled in his blanket, watched him with a twisted grin.
"Some horse to take on a trip like this," he said. "A half-broke mule
couldn't be worse. Funny if Doug don't gum the whole game for us,
Charleton."
"You go to hell, Scott!" grunted Douglas.
Scott sat up with a jerk. Charleton spoke sharply. "No scrapping! You two
get to sleep!"
Scott lay down reluctantly. Doug shrugged his broad shoulders, and
shortly, head in his saddle, feet to the fire, he was fast asleep.
The trees were black against gray light when Charleton called the two
young riders.
"Let's eat and be off," he said briefly.
Breakfast was a short affair of bread, bacon and coffee. While they were
bolting it, Charleton outlined the campaign.
"You'll see Nelson's cattle have been all through here. No one else
grazes hereabouts. Don't rope any cows with calves following 'em. They
make too much bellowing. Get what steers you can by mid-morning into the
old corral. There isn't one chance in a thousand we'll meet any one.
Nelson's making hay five miles below here. But if any one should come
along when you've roped a steer, get him to examine the brand for you,
and of course if the brand isn't yours, let the critter go."
"Where is the old corral from here?" asked Scott.
"Show him, Doug," ordered Charleton.
The camp had been made just within the tree line below the peak. Above,
against the glowing pink of the heavens, was etched the suave line of the
peak and topping this a heap of rocks, surmounted by a staff. West of the
staff and below it projected the top of a dead spruce on which sat an
eagle. To this Douglas pointed.
"Down the mountain on a line with the staff and the dead spruce in a
thick clump of young aspen, about an acre of it. The old corral is
there."
Scott nodded. They broke camp at once and trotted off, each one for
himself. The Moose was not yet a cow-pony, but, from Doug's viewpoint at
least, he was now quite manageable. Any one in Lost Chief could rope a
steer from a well-trained horse. Douglas proposed to repay Scott's sneer
by bringing in on his half-broken mount as many animals as either of his
companions on their seasoned cow-ponies. And although Doug risked his
life a hundred times, four of the dozen fat steers that were milling
about in the old corral by nine o'clock had been dragged in by the
snorting, trembling Moose.
When Doug closed the bars on his fourth steer, he waited for a short time
for Charleton and Scott, but as neither appeared, he set off after
another brute. He had ridden a good mile from the corral when he heard
the bellow of a bull and a shout from Charleton. He spurred the Moose in
the direction of the cry. Democrat was standing with the reins over his
head. Under a giant pine close by, Charleton was clinging desperately
to the horns of a red bull. Blood was running over the back of his gray
shirt. The bull was stamping in a circle in the vain attempt to trample
his victim.
"Don't shoot!" gasped Charleton. "Rope his hind legs and throw him! By
God, I'll keep him now!"
Twice Doug's lariat darted through the air before the loop caught. But
the third attempt was successful and he raced the half-maddened Moose
away and jerked the bull off his feet. Charleton rolled to his own lariat
lying on the ground near Democrat. He grasped the rope, rose to his knees
and twirled it. It twisted about the bull's mighty neck. Charleton sank
back to a sitting position and pulled the rope taut.
"Dismount and come up on him, Doug, and hog tie him," he panted.
Douglas obeyed, and shortly the bull was helpless although he continued
to bellow threateningly.
"He'll have Nelson up here even if he is five miles off," said Douglas
anxiously. "Better let him go."
"Take a look at my ankle, Doug," ordered Charleton. "If it's nothing
worse than a sprain, I'm in luck."
With many oaths on the part of Charleton, the high riding-boot was worked
off, disclosing an ankle already puffed and discolored.
"A sprain! Well, I can sit Democrat with that. Now take a look at my
shoulder."
Doug turned back the bloody shirt. The bull's horn had grazed the
shoulder but not deeply. Doug tied the wound up with Charleton's
neckerchief. He had just finished and was beginning with his own scarf on
the ankle when Scott galloped up.
"Say, you can hear that bull for a thousand miles! What the devil are you
up to? I want you both to come and help me get three I've roped down the
draw a couple of miles below here."
Douglas explained the accident.
"My gawd, Charleton, don't you know enough not to tackle a bull on foot?"
"How'd I know there was a bull around?" retorted the wounded man. "I
dropped my rope and when I dismounted to pick it up, he came after me
like a Kansas cyclone."
"Well, I'll take the bull to the corral and come back here for grub if
Douglas will fix it up. We will put plenty of whiskey and hot coffee in
you, Charleton. Do you think you can get home, while Doug and I ride
herd?"
"I sure can! Go ahead, Scott. You'd better blind the bull."
Scott nodded, and picking up several handsful of dry dirt, he threw them
into the bull's wide, bloodshot eyes. The animal snorted and tossed his
head. Scott continued with handful after handful until the bull's eyes
were only muddy blanks under his tossing forehead. His bellowing ceased.
Then Scott removed the ropes from his hind legs and, mounting, led him
away. The bull was silent and entirely occupied in attempting to rub the
dirt out of his streaming eyes.
"Make it as quick as you can, Scott," called Charleton. Then to Douglas,
"Get busy with the whiskey and coffee, Doug. He ought to be back by the
time you've fixed up a snack."
But Scott was long in returning.
"Oughtn't he to be back?" asked Doug, when the bacon was ready.
Charleton looked at his watch. "He's been gone over an hour. After you
eat, you go see what kind of trouble he's in, Doug."
Douglas devoured the bacon and bread, then mounted and rode slowly
through the silent, scented forest. His blue eyes danced with excitement,
his tanned cheeks burned as he guided the Moose through the quivering
aspens to the corral. Here he pulled up with a sudden oath. The corral
was empty, the fence torn open in half a dozen places.
"That blankety-blank old bull must have started a stampede!" gasped
Douglas. "I wouldn't have thought Scott would have left him free in
here!"
He rode through and around the corral. Cattle tracks led in every
direction. He trotted in widening circles. Perhaps a mile north of the
corral, he pulled up and looked closely at the ground. Single cattle
tracks here converged and a herd track led on northward. As he stared
at it, the bull came thundering down the trail. Doug put the Moose after
him but had not followed him for five minutes when Scott broke into the
chase from the right.
"What do you think you've done, blank you?" he shouted. "What have you
done with the rest of the herd?"
"Done with the herd?" roared Douglas. "What are you talking about?"
"I know you, you dogy rider, you! I told you that wild horse of yours
would gum the game. There ain't a steer left! What do you mean by riding
him into the corral?"
"You're drunk!" retorted Douglas. "You'd better ride after that bull or
Charleton will pull a gun on you."
"Ride after nothing! Chase him yourself!"
"On second thoughts, I think I will. It's your turn to play nurse. Go on
back and tell Charleton what's happened."
"Don't get fresh, young fellow!" snarled Scott.
Douglas pushed back his hat and the noon sun glimmered through the pines
on his yellow hair. His clear blue eyes studied Scott appraisingly.
Finally, he said, "I guess, on third thoughts, I'll take you back to
Charleton."
Scott laughed. "Now you're drunk!"
Douglas' six-shooter appeared casually between the Moose's twitching
ears. "Hold up your little brown hands, Scott, till I reach me your gun.
Fine! Now ride ahead of me till we reach Charleton. Some boy I am on the
draw, eh, old-timer?"
Scott swore, but rode ahead at a steady trot until they reached the
noonday camp. Charleton looked at them in astonishment.
"Call this damn fool off my back, will you, Charleton?" drawled Scott.
"He's mad because I called him for letting that wild cayuse of his
stampede the herd."
"He's a liar! This is as good a cow-pony as he ever rode and better.
Ain't a better horse in Lost Chief than this same Moose. He was after the
bull like a hound after a coyote when Scott broke in on us, the dirty--"
"Hold on," interrupted Charleton, "What's your story, Scott?"
"The corral is broke in forty places and all the stock gone. I suppose
this fool rode his wild horse into the herd and stampeded it. I found him
running the bull like he and his horse was both loco."
Douglas uttered an oath. "Nothing of the kind! When I got there, the herd
was gone and I'd just picked up the trail when the bull came along."
Charleton looked from one young man to the other. Doug with his long face
entirely expressionless, sitting easily sidewise in his saddle; Scott,
face flushed, eyes angry, standing tense in the stirrups. There came an
ugly twist to Charleton's lips, but after a moment he spoke coolly.
"You fellows help me up on Democrat and we'll beat it for home."
"But you don't believe the Moose--" began Doug. But Charleton
interrupted.
"If I wasn't crippled I'd mighty soon show you fellows what I believed.
As it is, I'm going home. But if I find either of you has double-crossed
me, I'll square accounts."
There was that in Charleton's eyes which caused the two riders to
dismount without a word. They heaved him into his saddle and, with his
lariat, arranged a sling for his injured ankle. When they had made him as
comfortable and secure as possible, Scott said politely:
"You don't need two of us, Charleton. I think I'll go after a bear I saw
in the raspberry patch beyond the corral."
"Nothing doing, Scott!" grunted Charleton.
"You've fallen down on the job, Charleton," Scott laughed, "so you've
lost your right to boss."
"No, he hasn't," said Douglas. "You come along!"
But this time Doug's six-shooter flashed no more quickly than Scott's.
Charleton, his face twisted with pain, waited for a thoughtful minute
before he said:
"Put up your guns, boys. Let him go, Doug," and he turned his horse
eastward.
Douglas reluctantly returned his gun to his hip and Scott disappeared at
a canter. The Moose followed after Democrat.
"What did you do that for, Charleton?" demanded Douglas, resentfully.
"That's just giving him the herd."
"If he has double-crossed me," returned the older man, "I'm in no shape
to handle him just now. He never came back to meet you till he'd turned
the herd over to an accomplice. In any case, I lose on this trick."
"But he didn't know you were going to meet up with a bull!"
"No, but he was going to keep us away from the corral, somehow. You
remember he said he'd come back to get us to help him bring in some
steers. Of course, you and he might be in cahoots on this, but Scott's
tricky so I'm giving you some of the benefits of the doubt." Charleton
turned in his saddle to favor Douglas with a suspicious stare.
"I didn't double-cross you, Charleton," said Douglas, not without a
simple dignity that may or may not have impressed his mentor. At any
rate, Charleton made no reply.
Douglas was entirely deflated. He drooped dejectedly in the saddle,
guiding the stiff and weary Moose without interest. His wonderful
expedition by which he was to establish his standing as a man with his
father and Judith had ended in ignominy. He watched Charleton's painfully
rigid back but he did not dare to speak to him until they were nearly
home. As they neared the edge of the first line, the ground became
tapestried with lilies, yellow, white and crimson. Tree-trunks turned
blue against the blue skies that belled over the valley. As they
descended, the Forest Reserve lifted gradually, a black green sea beyond
the burning brown level of the ranches. But Douglas was in no frame of
mind either to seek or to see beauty. He had a guilty sense that
Charleton believed that he had failed him, and finally he summoned
courage to call, "Doggone it, Charleton! I wanted to put it over, don't
you suppose?"
Charleton did not answer, and when they crossed the canyon back of
Rodman's, Douglas, hurt and resentful, turned the Moose onto the home
trail. He had gone almost beyond hailing distance before Charleton
called, "Come down and see me soon, old cattle rustler!"
Instantly Doug's spirits soared. He waved his hand with a grin and put
the Moose to a trot.
It was supper time when he clanked into the kitchen. His father and
mother were at the table.
"You're early, Doug!" exclaimed John.
Doug nodded. "Where's Judith?"
"Keeping that mysterious date of hers. Maud, of course! She won't be home
till late. I hope it's not with Inez. You look tired, Doug."
"I am. Jude makes me sick. She's harder to watch than a boy!"
John laughed enigmatically and went out to finish his chores. Shortly,
Douglas followed him and told the story of the miscarried adventure.
"I told Charleton not to let Scott in on it," exclaimed John. "Serves him
right. I sure got the laugh on Charleton this time."
"He's awful sore! Acts kind of suspicious of me," said Douglas ruefully.
"A guy like Charleton don't even trust himself." John pitched down a
forkful of hay. "Have you any idea what Maud and Jude are up to?"
"No, sir. Are you worried about her?"
John laughed. "As long as Scott Parsons was with you, why worry? We'd
ought to let Young Jeff run that crook out of the valley."
"I'll do it myself, some day." Douglas squared his big shoulders as he
spoke. He was still very thin and his clothes hung loose on him. But his
father, looking him over, did not smile.
"Go to it, boy," he said.
Douglas had planned to lie awake until Judith returned. But the minute he
touched his pillow he dropped into dreamless slumber from which he did
not waken until breakfast time. John was scolding Judith when Doug
reached the table.
"That's all right, to be so highty-tighty. You can get away with that
with your mother but not with me. It was nearly three o'clock this
morning when you came in."
"O, no, John! It wasn't that late," protested Mary anxiously.
"Now, Mary, don't put up one of your fool lies for the little devil.
I know what time it was. What excuse have you, miss?"
Judith, who was looking tired, but singularly self-satisfied, answered
demurely, "I was out on business, Dad. And I'm going to get pay for it,
too. A horse that will really buck."
John's face was flushing when Douglas spoke. "Aw, let her keep her
secret, Dad! I don't think she's done a thing but rope a stray pony."
Judith protested quickly. "Nothing of the kind! If you three just knew
what I have done, you'd respect me. Anyway, Doug, I know where you were.
Over on Fire Mesa with Charleton Falkner."
"Who told you that?" grinned Douglas.
"Somebody that knew. Dad, why don't you get after Doug like you do after
me? What was he doing over on Fire Mesa, all night?"
"That's right, Doug! What were you doing on Fire Mesa?" asked John, all a
broad smile now that infuriated Judith.
She jumped up from the table, took down her milking pail and went out.
Nor did she give Douglas opportunity to talk to her during the rest of
the day. Not until twilight had settled in the valley did Douglas find
her alone. Then, searching for her, he discovered her behind the corral,
curled up against the new alfalfa stack, her eyes on the sunset glow
above Lost Chief Peak.
Douglas sat down beside her. "I didn't mean to tease you, this morning,
Jude. I was just trying to steer Dad off."
"But you always do think my stunts never amount to anything, Doug!"
"Have I said a word like that, lately? I can't help being anxious, can I,
when a girl like you stays out until three in the morning?"
"Yes, you were so anxious your snores shook the house!" returned Judith.
"Now admit, Doug, that you really think it was nothing worth worrying
about."
"Well, I don't see how it could be anything so very important."
"There, I knew it! Doug, I'm so proud of myself that if I don't tell some
one, I'll burst. Give me your word of honor you'll never give it away and
I'll tell you."
"I swear I'll die before I'll peep!"
"Still think it's funny, don't you! All right, mister, prepare to faint!
I was out helping Scott Parsons run cattle."
Douglas gasped.
"There, Doug Spencer! You're such a wonder! Of course," honestly, "I
didn't do the hardest part. Scott had got 'em all together in a corral
before I got there. But I held the herd in a little canyon for a couple
of hours while he got old Nelson off the scent. Then we drove 'em across
the ridge, down into the desert country west of Mesa Pass. He's going to
sell 'em in Mountain City and my share is a good bucking horse, like I
told you."
Douglas sat perfectly still, so torn by conflicting emotions that for a
time he was speechless. Finally, from the chaos of his mind rose an
overwhelming anger.
"Do you think that's a decent thing to do? A girl, running cattle and
with a confessed murderer at that? I sure am ashamed of you, Jude!"
"Can you beat a man!" cried Judith to the flaming heavens. "He won't even
give me credit for being a cattle wrangler! And he says he loves me!"
Doug's voice was furious. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, stealing
cattle and running round with that Inez Rodman!"
"You just be careful of what you say, Doug Spencer!" "Careful! Why should
I be careful. You aren't careful!"
"I'm a whole lot better than you, at that! If it's so smart for you to do
all these things, why isn't it for me?"
"A woman has to be good. It's her job to be good. If she isn't good in a
cattle country like this, everything goes to pieces."
"It's a wonder you men don't set us women an example," said Judith
coolly.
"Don't I try to keep you straight?"
"Yeh! A wonderful example you set me!"
Douglas' voice broke with anger. "Don't talk like a fool! The world isn't
like that! The women have to be good. The men want 'em to be, no matter
how hard they try to make the women bad. And the more you care for a
girl, the more you want her to be perfect."
"The world is plumb loco and you with it!"
"You're as cold as a dead rabbit!" exclaimed Doug,
Judith laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, I'm cold! I'm as cold as fire!" And
suddenly she put her head down on her knees and burst into tears.
Instantly Douglas melted. He put his arms about. Judith and drew her head
to his shoulder. "O Jude! Don't! If I could only make you see it's my
love for you makes me so mad!"
"You,--you don't want me to have any fun!" sobbed Judith. "How'd you like
to be asked to give up everything yourself and stay home like a woman?"
"I wouldn't like it. But a regular girl oughtn't to want to do such
things."
"Why not? I like horses and dogs and the wind on Fire Mesa just as much
as you do. And dancing and hunting by moonlight and getting away with
somebody else's cattle and all of it. I love it! And you ask me to give
it up because you want me to be good. What do you call good, anyhow?"
Douglas did not answer at once. In the first place, Judith's flushed
cheek in his neck upset his equilibrium, and in the second place he was
overwhelmed with a sudden consciousness of the truth of Peter's
statement, that he had not a clean-cut idea to his name.
But finally he stammered, "Well, I call being good not drinking or
stealing or being loose with men or any of those things--for a girl."
"And for a man?" asked Judith, sitting erect.
"Aw, who wants a man to be good?" laughed Douglas.
"I do," replied Judith, with a sudden thrilling intensity in her young
voice. "I want his strength to be as the strength of ten, because his
heart is pure,"
"Judith, you really do?"
"Yes, I really do."
Douglas drew a long breath. "Judith, would you want me to be that way?"
"I sure would."
"Well, then, Judith, so help me God, I will be!"
Judith put her slender, muscular hand on Doug's, swallowed hard once or
twice, but said nothing. Then the tense moment past, she asked, "Honest,
Doug, don't you think that was kind of a smart stunt of mine?"
"I certainly do," with heart-felt conviction. "But I want you to promise
me one thing. That you won't run any more cattle. Will you, Jude?"
"I'll promise you, if you'll promise me," returned Judith promptly.
"But it's different with a man," repeated Douglas.
"But you promised about that other."
"That was different. It was something personal between you and me. The
other is business."
"All right! I don't promise unless you do."
"I can't promise, Jude. Honest, I can't."
Jude laughed and jumped to her feet. "You are a goose, Doug, but I sure
am fond of you." Then she left him.
Douglas sat still, his head pressed against the indescribable sweetness
of the alfalfa hay, eyes on the wonder of the stars. Finally he said
aloud, "I wish there was somebody a fellow could talk to that knows
things. I wish my grandfather Douglas was alive. Peter jaws too much.
What I want is to know facts, then judge for myself."
His father passed by the haystack, pitchfork on shoulder. "Who are you
talking to, Doug?" he asked.
"The biggest fool in Lost Chief," replied Douglas, rising and following
his father to the house.