JUDITH AT THE RODEO
"If you break the heart of a thoroughbred, she doesn't even make a good
cart horse."
--_Mary Spencer_.
Late in the afternoon, when Douglas awoke, Judith was sitting beside the
bed, chin in palm. Peter was not to be seen. Douglas stared at the young
girl until her gaze lifted from the floor and she smiled at him.
"Judith," he said, "it's been a long time, hasn't it?"
Judith nodded. "I've been sitting here thinking how much you've changed.
You were just a boy, last summer. Now you look like a man, lying there."
"You've changed yourself. Jude, you're going to be very beautiful."
Judith chuckled. "You and Scott agree on one point, then!"
"Jude! Honestly, I don't see how you can stand that crook!"
"He's a woman's man," said Judith shortly.
"I can't see it!"
"Don't let's quarrel the first thing, Douglas. How is Little Marion?"
"Same as usual. Did you know that she is engaged to Jimmy Day?"
"I knew she ought to be," said Judith bluntly. "They sure make a
good-looking pair! When will they be married?"
"When Jimmy has got a good start with his herd. Judith, Charleton isn't a
bit like I thought he was."
"He's an ornery mean devil, if you ask me," said Judith succinctly. "He's
the worst influence that ever came into your life."
"Did Peter say that?"
"No; I said it. You are too good to waste on Charleton. What has finally
waked you up about him?"
"He's always talked to me against marriage and women and children and
everything like that. Said awful hard things about 'em, Jude. He really
got me to the point this winter where I felt as if marriage was wrong.
But do you know, when the boy was born, yesterday morning, he just went
plumb loco. He cried and was sentimental like these young fathers you
read about in books."
Judith's great eyes widened incredulously. "He was!" She turned this over
in her mind for some time, then shook her head. "I give it up. I can't
understand men at all. I thought I had Charleton's number. I always did
agree with him about marriage."
Douglas drew a quick breath. If men were difficult to understand, how
much more so were women, particularly of Judith's type! One never got to
the end of them.
"How do you mean that, Judith?" he asked.
"I mean I'd rather be dead than married. Just look at the couples we
know, Doug! Just look at 'em!"
"I'm looking at 'em! What's the trouble?" demanded Doug.
"They don't love each other any more. That's all!" Judith tossed her head
knowingly.
"Pshaw! How do you know?"
"Because I've watched them for years and studied about it. There is
nothing in marriage, Doug. No, sir!"
"Pshaw! And you were sitting and quoting love poetry to Peter last
night!"
"Yes, I was! Certainly! I'm not idiot enough to say there's no such thing
as love. But I do know that a few years of marriage kills it. Yes, sir!"
Douglas eyed her wistfully. She was so vivid. Yes, vivid, that was the
word. Her eyes glowed as if her brain glowed too, and her lips were so
full of meanings, too changing and too subtle for him to read. If only
they could work out this strange enigma of life together!
"They can't hold out against the years," Judith repeated dreamily. "It's
as if love was too delicate for every-day use. They get over caring."
"I wonder why?" said Douglas.
"I think people get sick of each other, Doug! Why, I think a lot more of
you, since you've been away for a few months. And I get tired of my own
mother, bless her dear old heart, and I love her to death. But she's my
mother and I can't stop loving her. But I certainly couldn't stand a man
around the house, year after year. No marriage for me! No, sir!"
"But what will you do about love?" asked Douglas.
Judith's burning eyes grew soft. "Cherish it," she answered in a low
voice. "Keep it forever. Never murder it by marriage. It's the most
wonderful thing that comes into human life."
Douglas smiled sadly. "You talk as if you were a thousand years old,
Judith, on the one hand and like a baby on the other. What will you do,
marry without love? Somehow the children have got to be cared for by
responsible parties."
"Responsible parties!" Jude was derisive. "Do you call Dad a responsible
party?"
"He's fed and clothed us."
"What does that amount to?" said Judith largely. "An orphan asylum would
do that. The kind of parents kids need are the ones that will answer your
questions. I mean the real questions. The ones we don't dare to ask."
"About life and sex and all those things!" Doug nodded understandingly.
There was silence, then Doug shook his head. "I don't know how things
would go along without marriage. Just you wait until you fall in love and
see how you feel. You'll want to marry just like all the rest of us."
"Never! I'm with Inez on that!"
"Inez!"
"Yes, Inez! She's got more sense about living than all the women in this
valley put together. And she knows life."
Douglas sighed. "What are some of Inez' ideas about marriage?"
"Well, she just says it won't do! She says that the children have got to
be taken care of but that it isn't fair to put the curse of marriage on
parents. And she says her way isn't the answer, either, but that anyhow
it's honest, which is a darn sight more than a lot of marriages in Lost
Chief."
Judith paused to take breath and Douglas asked, "Say, now listen, Jude,
was Inez ever in love?"
"She says she's in love right now but she won't say who he is."
"I don't believe she knows what love is! Her ideas aren't worth anything.
I've lost faith in these folks that tell you they know life. They're
exactly like the rest of us under their skins. I'm getting to believe
that we all get happiness in the same way and over mighty few things.
Loving and having children, that's about all."
"Inez says it's nothing of the kind; that the only way to be happy is to
know what is beautiful when you see it."
"I suppose that's smart," said Douglas crossly, "but I haven't any idea
what it means."
"I know what it means; but you never will until you can ride across Fire
Mesa with your heart aching because it's so beautiful."
"I don't see where in the world you get the idea that I don't see the
beauty in things!" protested Douglas. "I can't gush like a girl and quote
poetry, but this sure is a lovely country to me. And I want my children's
children to have this valley and hold it till the very bones of their
bodies are made out of the dust of Lost Chief. That's how I feel about
these old hills. More than that, I can see how a marriage here in Lost
Chief might be a life-long dream of beauty."
Judith looked at Douglas with astonishment not unmixed with admiration.
But she returned sturdily to her own line of defense.
"Doug, do you see any beautiful marriage around here?"
Douglas stared at her tragically, then answered with a groan: "No, I
don't! But," with new firmness, "that's not saying I don't firmly believe
I couldn't make marriage a lovely thing."
"Why, do you think you are cleverer than anybody else?"
"Not clever, but--but--" Douglas paused, powerless to tell Judith of that
something within him that suddenly told him that his fate was to bring to
Lost Chief the thing of the soul it never had had. How or what this was
to be, he did not know.
After a time, he said softly, "Judith, were you ever in love?"
Judith returned his look with a curiously impersonal glance. "I'm not
sure," she answered slowly. "Not what Inez calls love, that's sure."
"Isn't there any other woman in Lost Chief that could give you ideas
except Inez?" asked Douglas impatiently.
"What woman would you suggest?" Judith waggled one foot airily and tossed
her head.
"Charleton's wife. She has brain and she's interesting."
"She's too old. I mean she looks at everything from an old-fashioned
viewpoint. I wouldn't care what her age was if she could just see things
the way they look to a person sixteen or seventeen years old. Now, Inez
is awfully modern."
"Modern!" snorted Douglas. "Where'd you read that? It sure is a new word
for Inez' kind!"
Judith flushed angrily but was denied a retort, for Peter suddenly
appeared in the door.
"What in the world do you children mean by this kind of talk?" he
shouted. "I couldn't help hearing while I was sorting mail. What do you
mean by thinking such thoughts, Judith? Have you the nerve to admit that
you are patterning your ideas on a woman like Inez?"
"I don't care what she is," replied Judith obstinately. "She's the only
woman in Lost Chief who can talk about anything but babies and cattle
raising. And more than that, and anyhow, I like her."
Peter took a turn or two up and down the room.
"I don't object so much to your liking her," he said, "as I do to your
absorbing her cynical ideas."
"Pshaw, Peter! I don't notice you're displaying a wife and a happy home
for us to copy after!" sniffed Judith. "What I want you old people to
do is to show me by example how practical and true all these fine old
precepts are that you are so free about laying down for us kids. Where's
your happy marriage, Peter?"
Peter's lips twisted painfully. "My happy marriage is in Limbo, Judith,
with the rest of my dreams. As for being old--why, Jude, I'm still in my
forties."
"Forty!" gasped Judith.
"Yes, forty; and if I hadn't been a fool I'd still be facing the most
useful part of my life. Heaven knows, children, I'm not offering myself
or any one else in Lost Chief as an example to you."
"What do you offer?" asked Jude with an impish smile.
Again Peter paced the room before coming to pause by Douglas' pillow.
"You both heard what I said this morning about the lack of a church in
Lost Chief. That's what you children need for a pattern. Disagree with
his creed as you might, the right kind of a preacher in here could answer
your questions as they should be answered. If the church doesn't form
ideals for young people like you, loose women and loose men will."
"That might be true, Peter," said Douglas; "but I don't see why you
should expect us to believe the stuff you can't believe yourself."
Peter winced, then said gruffly, "I don't know as I do. All I know is
that when I was a boy I went to church on Sunday morning with my mother
and that there was an old vicar who would have set me straight on the
things you are talking about, if I'd have let him."
"Couldn't you believe what he said?" asked Douglas.
"I never went to him. I preferred my own rotten ideas. I--" He drew
himself up with a sudden expression of disgust. "Faugh! How like a fool
I'm talking!" He stalked out, this time closing the door of the room
behind him.
"I wonder who Peter really is?" said Judith in a low voice.
Douglas shook his head. "Dad says he's seen better days. He sure has
suffered a lot over something or other."
"I wish I knew all about life that he does!" exclaimed Judith.
"I don't wish either of us did," said Douglas. Then he put out his hand
to touch Judith's knee with infinite tenderness. "Couldn't you manage to
fall in love with me, Jude dear? I'd stay your lover all my life."
Judith put her hand over Douglas' and her fine eyes were all that was
womanly and soft as she answered, "O my dear, you don't know what you are
talking about. What you promise is impossible."
"But how do you know, Judith? I am an unchanging sort of a chap. You
realize that, don't you?"
Judith shook her head. "You don't know what you are promising. You can't
force love to stay, once it has begun to fade."
"Try me, Judith! Try me, dear!"
Judith looked at him, lips parted, eyes sad. "Douglas, I'm afraid!" she
whispered.
And again the sense of loneliness flooded Doug's heart. There was a look
of remoteness in Judith's expression, a look of honest fear that had no
response for the fine assured emotion that had held him captive for so
many years.
The two were still staring at each other when Peter returned.
Doug's wound healed quickly and with no complications. He remained
with Peter for a week or so, then returned to his home. Scott Parsons
began preparations at once for carrying out Doug's sentence and for a
time the post-office and the west trail to Inez' place saw him most
infrequently. The excitement over the shooting having abated, Lost Chief
began preparations for the great event of the year, the Fourth of July
rodeo.
All the world knows the story of a rodeo, knows the beauty and the daring
of both riders and horses, knows the picturesque patois of the sand
corral. But all the world does not know of Judith's performance at this
particular rodeo.
Mary, lax and helpless enough on most matters concerning her daughter's
conduct, held out on one point. Judith could not enter the Fourth of July
rodeo until she was at least sixteen. But now, at sixteen, Judith asked
permission of no one. She entered the exhibition with Buster and Sioux
and Whoop-la, the bronco Scott had given her.
The rodeo was held on the plains to the east of the post-office. The
Browns owned the great corral, strongly fenced, and with a smooth sandy
floor bordered by a grandstand weathered and unpainted but still sturdy
enough to withstand the swaying and stamping of the crowd. Neither the
Browns nor any other of the Lost Chief families made money out of the
exhibition. It was a community affair in which was felt an intense
pride. All Lost Chief attended, of course, and people came in automobiles
and in sheep wagons and in the saddle from the ranches for a radius of a
hundred miles.
Burning heat and cloudless heavens, the high west wind and the nameless
exhilaration and urge of the Rockies at seven thousand feet, this was the
day of the rodeo. The exhibition began at ten in the morning and lasted
all day, with an hour at noon for dinner.
There was the usual roping and throwing of steers and the usual riding of
bucking broncos by men and women young and old. Douglas rode and rode
well, but he had his peer in Jimmy Day and in Charleton. Judith rapidly
eliminated all the women contestants and then began to vie with the men
in the riding of buckers. By four o'clock as one of the four best riders,
bar none, she was ready to enter the last competition on the program.
This was listed as an original exhibition to be given by each of the four
best riders. Douglas, Jimmy, and Charleton were the other contestants.
Judith entered first.
She trotted into the sand corral on Buster, leading the blindfolded Sioux
and followed at a short distance by Peter Knight, who was master of
ceremonies for the day. A little murmur went through the grandstand.
Judith's curls were bundled up under a sombrero. She wore a man's silk
shirt with a soft collar. It was of the color of the sky. Her khaki
divided skirt came just below the knee, meeting a pair of high-heeled
riding-boots. Her gauntleted gloves were deep fringed. She rode slowly,
silhouetted against the distant yellow of the plains. Sioux, a russet
red, silken flanks gleaming in the sun, moved his head uneasily, but
followed like a dog on leash.
Having crossed to the north end of the corral, Judith waited for Peter to
come up on Yankee. Douglas, circling outside the fence uneasily, heard
him say:
"You are a plumb fool, Judith. Anybody that plays round on foot with a
bull isn't a cowman. It's a life and death matter with a brute like
Sioux, and you know it."
"You slip his blindfold off when I dismount," she said, and she trotted
back to the south end of the enclosure. Here she dismounted, slipped the
reins over Buster's head and turned to face the bull. Peter jerked the
blindfold from the bull's eyes. The great creature lifted his head and
Peter backed away. Judith spread her arms wide and whistled. Sioux
snorted, pawed the ground, and started on a thundering gallop toward his
mistress.
There was a startled murmur from the grandstand. Buster snorted and
turned. Without moving, Judith gave a shrill whistle. Buster wheeled and
came back to his first position, where he stood trembling. On came Sioux,
his hoofs rocking the echoes, and with every apparent intention of goring
his mistress. But ten feet from Judith he pulled up with a jerk and with
stiffened fore legs slid to her side, and rubbed his great head against
her shoulder. Judith threw her arm about his neck and hugged him, white
teeth flashed at the grandstand, which rose to its feet and shouted.
Judith raised her hand for quiet, then leaped to Buster's saddle without
touching the stirrups. She put the uneasy horse to a slow trot and gave a
peculiar soft whistle to Sioux. Obediently he fell in behind the horse,
and Judith gave her audience a unique exhibition of "follow your leader."
Buster trotted, galloped, and backed. Sioux imitated him without protest,
until Judith brought up before the grandstand with both animals kneeling
on their fore legs, noses to the sand. Then Sioux jumped excitedly to his
feet as again applause broke out. Judith took his lead rope now and led
him to the middle of the corral where she blindfolded him and backed to
Peter. Peter strode across the corral carrying a saddle.
"Once more, Judith," he said, "I ask you not to do this."
"Saddle him quick, Peter. Then get on Buster and ride him off when I'm
up."
Peter adjusted the saddle as best he could to the bull's great girth
while Judith rubbed the brute's forehead, talking to him softly. Sioux
stood with head lowered, his red nostrils dilating and contracting
rapidly. But he did not move. When Peter nodded, Judith jerked the
blindfold free and leaped into the saddle. Sioux brought his mighty fore
legs together and leaped into the air. Peter hesitated a fraction of a
minute before putting his foot into Buster's stirrup, and the bull's leap
brought him against the flank of the uneasy horse. Buster reared and
Peter fell, his left foot in the stirrup. The horse started at a gallop,
dragging Peter toward the east gate.
Sioux, glimpsing from his wild, bloodshot eyes the prostrated figure of
a man, gave a great bellow and charged. Judith brought her quirt down on
the bull's flanks, at the same time whistling shrilly. But Sioux was now
out on his own. He overtook Buster half-way down the corral and thrust a
wicked horn at the wildly kicking Peter. Judith leaped from the saddle
and, running before Sioux, seized his horns and threw herself across his
face. The bull paused.
At this moment came the full blast of Sister's hunting cry from the west
gate. She crossed the corral like a hunted coyote and buried her fangs in
Sioux's shoulder just as Douglas on the Moose caught Buster's bridle.
Sioux cast Judith off as if she were a rag and gave his full attention to
Sister. Judith picked herself up, rushed to the still plunging Buster and
jerked Peter's foot from the stirrup. She ran to the blindfold lying in
the sand a short distance away, then whistling shrilly above Sioux's
bellowing and Sister's yelping, she again caught one of the bull's horns
in her slender brown hand. Sioux had rubbed Sister free against the fence
and was now charging the dog as she snarled just under his dewlap.
Again and yet again he flung Judith against his shoulders, but she did
not fall nor lose her grip. Suddenly, so quickly that the grandstand
could not follow the motion, she had wrapped the blindfold over the
burning eyes. As the bull stopped confused and trembling she hobbled his
fore-legs to his head with the bridle-chain. Then she seized Sister's
collar and stood panting, her hair tumbled about her neck. The grandstand
shouted its delight.
Peter had risen and was wiping the sand from his face.
"Call Sister, Peter!" cried Judith. "She'll bite me in a minute."
Peter mounted Yankee, whistled to Sister, and with a rueful grin and
shake of his head for the audience, he trotted from the corral. Judith
loosened the bridle-chain and jumped once more into Sioux's saddle.
"Pull off his blindfold, Doug!" she cried.
"Nothing doing," returned Douglas succinctly. "You get off that bull,
Jude, before I take you off."
"I'm going to ride him up to the grandstand," said Judith between set
teeth.
She whistled to Sioux and he lunged forward. Doug twisted his lariat. It
coiled round one of the bull's hind legs. Doug brought his horse to its
haunches.
"You get off that bull, Judith," he said. "You've put up the real show of
the day. Be satisfied before you are killed. Sioux is almost crazy."
Frank Day, who was one of the judges, now trotted up. "Doug is right,
Jude."
"There's not a bit of danger," cried Jude, "if you men would do what
you're told to do! Peter had to stop and look instead of hurrying as I
told him."
Her eyes were full of tears. She dismounted slowly and after freeing
Sioux from Doug's lariat, she led the uneasy bull before the grandstand
and made her bow. Jimmy Day brought her a horse and, mounting, she
trotted out of the corral followed by the now half-crazed Sioux.
The three men contestants laughingly refused to put on their exhibitions.
There was no hope, they agreed, of competing successfully against Sioux
and Judith; so Judith received the prize, a twenty-dollar gold piece.
The day ended with this award. It was some time before Douglas and Judith
freed themselves from the crowd. John and Mary, still laughing over
Peter's discomfiture, led the postmaster off that Mary might treat his
really badly skinned face at the ranch. The ranchers who had come from
distant valleys began to scatter toward the Pass. When at last Judith and
Douglas, with their string of horses and the still unchastened Sioux,
started up the trail toward the post-office, they were held up by a
stranger in a smart, high-powered automobile.
"Listen, Miss Spencer," he called, "how about your riding in the rodeo at
Mountain City, this fall?"
Doug and Judith both gasped. The rodeo at Mountain City was the ultimate
and almost hopeless dream of every young rider.
"How do you know they'd let me in?" asked Judith.
"I'm chairman of the program committee this year," answered the stranger.
"If you are interested, I'll write you details when I get back home. I've
got to run for it now."
"Interested!" exclaimed Judith. "I guess you know just what it means to
be competing in the Mountain City rodeo!"
The stranger nodded. "Then you'll hear from me." He turned his panting
car away from the plunging horses and was a receding dot up the trail to
the Pass before Judith and Douglas found their tongues.
"Well, you deserve it, Judith," cried Douglas. "You beat anything I've
seen. It's not only what you do but the way you do it. You've got to have
a good outfit. I'll help you buy it."
"Do you really think I'm good enough for Mountain City?" exclaimed
Judith.
"Good enough for the world!" declared Douglas.
Judith laughed and gave her attention to the unhappy Sioux.
Peter was at supper with John and Mary when they reached home. His whole
face was covered with boric powder. Judith and Douglas shouted with
laughter. Peter buttered another biscuit.
"I never was vain of my looks," he said plaintively. "It was mean of you,
Judith, to ruin what I had."
"I was never so surprised in my life, honestly, as when you fell, Peter,"
cried Judith.
"O yes; you were more surprised an hour ago," contradicted Douglas. He
turned to his father. "Judith's been asked to ride at the Mountain City
rodeo. The chairman of their program committee stopped us and asked her."
"Bully for the girl!" cried John. "I'm not surprised, myself. Some show,
Jude!"
"The Mountain City rodeo is a tough proposition for a young girl to
tackle," said Peter.
"O, I'll go with her," John spoke quickly, "and let Mary and Doug run the
place for a week. We'll be back in time for the round-up."
"If Judith goes, I go," said Mary with unwonted firmness.
"What do you think I am?" demanded John. "A millionaire or a Mormon?"
Douglas, a little white around the lips, glanced at Judith, who was
calmly devouring the lavish piece of steak which she had served herself.
Peter was rolling a cigarette.
"If Jude goes," John went on, "she goes with her Dad. And believe me, I
am going to buy her the doggondest best outfit I can glom my hands on."
Peter caught Douglas' eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head.
"I'm going too," repeated Mary.
"You are not!" John's voice thickened. "You and Douglas run the place. If
there's a rancher in the State deserves a vacation more than I do, I wish
you'd name him."
"Give me a match, John," said Peter; "and if there's no objection, let's
get out of this hot kitchen."
John tossed a match-box to the postmaster and led the way out to the
corral. Peter and Douglas lined up on the fence beside him. Judith
remained in the kitchen with her mother.
"Well, it was the best rodeo we ever had," said Peter.
"Jude was the whole show." John's handsome face showed vividly for a
moment as he lighted his pipe. "I suppose there are other folks that ride
as well, but she does it with an air!"
"It's her love of it gets across to people who are watching her," mused
Peter. "And she rides with a sort of ease that belongs to Jude and no one
else, to say nothing of her power over animals. There is a lot to Jude.
Too bad she lives in Lost Chief. She hasn't a chance in the world."
"Just how do you mean that?" demanded John.
"Exactly as I said it. She hasn't a chance in the world."
"Chance in the world for what?" John's voice was irritated. "Talk so a
fool like me can understand you, Peter."
"I guess you understand me, John. Hello, Judith! I should think you'd be
tired enough to go to bed."
"Who? Me?" Judith perched beside Peter. "I should say not! I'd like to go
to a dance."
"I sure-gawd will try to give you your fill of dancing for once in
Mountain City." The anger had disappeared from John's voice.
"Judith's not going unless her mother goes!" said Douglas coolly.
Judith sniffed. "Her master's voice, again! You'd better horn out of
this, Douglas."
"I haven't any intention of keeping out," retorted Douglas.
"You'd better," warned Judith. "If you think I'm going to turn down a
chance for a real outfit, without hearing the argument, you're mistaken."
"I told you I'd help you," insisted Douglas.
"You! What could you buy!" jibed the girl.
"I was thinking, Jude," said John, "why don't you let me get you one of
those regular riding suits like Eastern women wear, pants and one of
those long coats."
"Everybody would laugh at me." Judith's voice was doubtful but deeply
interested. "What do you think, Peter?"
"Women's clothes are out of my line," replied Peter.
"Aw, don't bribe her, Dad," protested Douglas.
"Bribe her!" snorted John. "For what?"
Peter gave a sardonic laugh that would have done credit to Charleton.
"I'm going home, John, before I get hauled in on a family row. Doug, I'm
pretty stiff. Will you help me saddle Yankee?"
Douglas rose reluctantly and followed Peter into the shed where Yankee
was munching hay.
"Keep your fool mouth shut, Doug," whispered the postmaster. "You've got
from now to September first to sidetrack this thing."
"If Jude passes her word to him, she'll go. And you know as well as I do,
Peter, that most anybody would sell their soul to ride in that rodeo with
a fine outfit."
"Certainly, I know it. But you keep out of it for a while."
"Peter, I can't! When Dad gets to working on Judith, I see red. Listen!
Just listen!"
Stillness and starlight and John's voice rich and sweet as Peter never
had heard it.
"You're beautiful, Judith! A beautiful woman! Let me dress you as you
ought to be dressed, give you the right kind of a horse, and the whole of
the rodeo will be yours. I tell you, girl, all you've got to do is to ask
me for what you want."
"Do other folks call me beautiful, Dad?" Judith's voice was breathless.
"Why do you call me Dad? I'm not your father, thank God!"
Douglas strode out of the shed and up to the fence, followed by Peter on
Yankee.
"I don't want to quarrel with you, Dad--" he began, furiously.
"Then don't start something you can't see the finish of," interrupted
Judith. "Let me run my own affairs, Doug."
"That's sound advice." John's voice was cool. "I don't want to quarrel
with you either. But I'm still master of my own ranch and, by God, I'll
knock you down if you interfere in this."
Peter leaned over and put his hand on Douglas' shoulder.
"Don't be a fool, Doug! Go off and think before you talk."
For a moment there was silence. Douglas stood tense under Peter's kindly
hand, his face turned toward the beautiful shadow of Falkner's Peak. The
heavens, deep purple and glorious with stars, were very near. Suddenly
Douglas turned on his heel and clanked into the house, where he threw
himself down on his bed.
The old, futile bitterness was on him again, and he was quite as bitter
at Judith as at his father. Of what could the girl be thinking? What did
girls think about men like John, or any other men for that matter? If
only there were some woman to whom he might go for advice. Grandma Brown?
No; he had talked to her once and she had failed him. Charleton's wife
had failed with her own daughter. There remained Inez Rodman, who knew
Judith better than any one else knew her. Inez! Doug's mind dwelt long on
this name. But he felt sure that the woman of the Yellow Canyon had
forgotten what she had thought and felt at sixteen. And, after all, he
did not want again to see life through Inez' eyes. Long after the rest of
the family slept, Douglas pursued his weary and futile self-examination,
coming to a blind wall at the end.
The next day John mentioned casually that he and Judith had settled on
taking the trip to Mountain City together. Douglas made no comment. Not
that he had any intention of allowing Judith to make the trip under such
circumstances, but he knew that for the present he could only bide his
time.