THE FLAME IN THE VALLEY
"The coyote is a coward, so his bite is the nastiest."
--_Old Sister, the dog_.
The next day when Douglas went down to the ranch to help out with a
day's work for which John had asked him, Judith obviously avoided him.
Douglas made no attempt to enforce a tête-à-tête until mid-afternoon.
Then he followed Jude into the empty cow stable.
"Jude, I can't bear to have you think I'm not fair about Inez. If that's
what you are sore about."
Judith laid carefully back the eggs she had taken out of the manger. Her
face was set when she turned to him. "It doesn't matter much, I suppose,
whether you are fair to Inez or not. She can take care of herself. What
I'm angry about is your being so stupid with me, always picking at me
about the things that don't count and so wrapped up in your own ideas
that you can't see what I really need, and why I am so terribly
restless."
Douglas leaned against the door-post, his face eager, his breath a
little quickened. Now, at last, perhaps he was to win past the threshold
and gaze upon Judith's inner solitude. But he would not crowd her.
"What is it that makes you so restless, Judith?" he asked gently.
"Well, it certainly isn't lack of religion and it certainly isn't lack
of marrying," she retorted. "Those are the only suggestions you've ever
been able to make about my state of mind."
"But, you see," Doug's voice was still gentle, "I don't even know what
your state of mind is! Sometimes you tell me you find life a bitter
disappointment. Sometimes you find it very beautiful. Sometimes you want
to spend all your days in Lost Chief. Sometimes you must sell your
heart's blood to get away from it. All that I really know about your
state of mind is that you are lonely and uneasy, like me."
Judith watched him with less perhaps of anger than of resentment in her
deep gray eyes.
"It's the unfairness of it! The utter unfairness of life to women!" she
burst out. "Don't you see?"
Douglas shook his head. "How can I see? You are very beautiful. You have
the strength of a fine boy. You have a splendid mind. You have a very
special gift in handling animals. You are gay and brave-hearted and
lovable. Why in the world should I feel that life isn't fair to you?"
"Don't you see?" wringing her hands together. "I have all that, and no
chance to use any of it so that it's put to any sort of big use at all.
I'm buried alive!"
"Oh!" Douglas gasped. He had indeed seen Judith's trouble. All the vital
beauty, the splendid talents--was marriage to him a big use of them?
"Oh!" he repeated. He brushed his hand across his eyes. "God! Judith,"
he muttered, "what can I do?"
"I don't know," she said, "but at least you can stop trying to thrust
old Fowler down my throat. As for Inez, I judge Inez a good deal more
exactly than you do and in many ways more harshly. But what I do insist
on is that no man in Lost Chief is fit to judge her."
Judith again picked up the eggs, and went out.
Douglas put in the rest of the week placing his traps up the canyon, and
purposely avoided talking with Fowler about his next sermon. He was not
surprised, however, when he read the announcement which the preacher
gave him to tack up on the post-office door. The sermon was to deal with
the modern Magdalene.
Fowler had chosen his subject with the idea of exciting popular
interest: his choice was almost perfect. Every soul in Lost Chief was
packed into the log chapel long before the services began--every soul,
that is, but Inez. Mr. Fowler never had been more eloquent and never,
probably, had preached to a more deeply interested congregation. His
sermon was a vitriolic arraignment, thinly disguised by Biblical
nomenclature, of Inez Rodman.
When Fowler had finished, Young Jeff rose slowly to his feet. Douglas,
from his usual place in a rear seat, smiled a little. He liked Young
Jeff and liked him best when he rose as now, to do battle for a friend.
"Fowler," said Young Jeff, "I don't like that sermon. We all know who
you are driving at, and as for me, you make me very sore. That's a Lost
Chief girl and no outsider can come in here and insult her."
"Right! Right!" called several men.
"I didn't expect you to like the sermon," said Mr. Fowler. "I'm through
saying pleasant things to you folks. You are going to get straight facts
from now on."
"That's as it may be. But you keep your tongue off of Lost Chief women."
"I don't know why you get your back up, Young Jeff!" cried Grandma
Brown. "The people of Lost Chief aren't ignorant. They do what they do
because they prefer it that way. They know what the world calls their
doings. Why be squeamish when Fowler comes in here and just repeats the
world's attitude on such doings? Inez is the ruination of our young
folks, and we all know it."
"That's right!" called Mrs. Falkner; and Mary Spencer added a low, "Yes!
Yes!"
"She's better than any man in the room, right now!" cried Judith. "If
you are going to drive her out, you ought to drive the men out."
"Fine!" called Charleton Falkner.
There was a quick guffaw of laughter, during which John Spencer rose.
"Fowler, I don't want to seem to go against my own son, but I want to
say that if you try any more sermons like this one, I'm going to head a
committee to run you out of the Valley."
"I'd want to be head of that committee myself. Don't be a hog, John!"
drawled Charleton.
"That's a good idea!" exclaimed Scott Parsons. "If the preacher says,
'Drive Inez out,' we'll say, 'Out with the preacher!'"
"You're all talking like a parcel of children!" said Grandma Brown.
"Come on!" shouted Scott. "The Pass is open. Let's send him out now!"
Douglas slid to the end of the seat. Fowler stood tensely behind the
table, pale, but calm. Peter Knight spoke for the first time.
"I've got an idea. Let's give the sky pilot just one more chance. Let's
ask him to preach a sermon next Sunday that we can all feel the right
kind of an interest in, or else resign, himself."
Douglas spoke suddenly, "Just what would that kind of a sermon be about,
Peter?"
"Well, that's Fowler's job," replied Peter. "He's been at it all his
life. He's probably learned by this time the kind of sermons people
don't like. I don't want to see him driven out of Lost Chief. I want him
to have his chance."
"That's fair enough," exclaimed Charleton. "This isn't such bad fun. Why
drive him out while the fun lasts? How about it, John?"
"Fair enough!" agreed John.
"Nothing doing!" cried Scott.
"Now, Scott," warned Charleton amiably, "you run the bull business and
you'll have your hands full. We old regulars will handle the preacher."
"Huh!" sniffed Grandma Brown. "Wonderful! 'Old regulars!' Well, don't
any of you old regulars forget that Douglas Spencer has grown up and
that his brand mark is the same as his grandfather's. I think you all
are acting like a parcel of children!"
Nobody spoke for a moment. Douglas watched Mr. Fowler anxiously, but the
old preacher appeared to have no weapons with which to meet the
occasion. Douglas felt that the situation was getting out of hand. He
knew how to meet physical resistance, but he realized that he was only a
novice in the sort of strategy that controls by mental superiority
alone. He ground his teeth together.
"I'm young yet and I'll learn! See if I don't!" Then he pressed his lips
together and waited.
Peter broke the silence.
"How about it, Fowler?"
"I'll agree to nothing. I am through compromising." The old man's eyes
were blazing in a white face.
"You're foolish!" exclaimed the postmaster. "But we insist on giving you
one more chance. Let's see what you can do for us next Sunday. I move
we adjourn." And the meeting broke up with a considerable amount of
laughter.
There was very little discussion of the situation in the cabin, that
night. Mr. Fowler seemed inexpressibly tired and broken, and Douglas,
with a sudden welling of pity to his throat, persuaded him to go to bed.
Nor did he, later, interfere with the old preacher's choice of a sermon.
There was a deep conviction growing within Douglas that the religious
issue of the situation was entirely beyond his own directing.
Peter, however, had no such conviction and he took considerable pains to
try to get Fowler to go back to the subject of immortality. But the old
man had the bit in his teeth and there was no holding him. The
post-office door on Saturday bore the announcement that Sunday's sermon
would be on The Sins of Lost Chief. Just below the preacher's placard
was an invitation from Jimmy Day for Lost Chief to attend his birthday
dance on Saturday evening.
Douglas told of the invitation at the supper table. Mr. Fowler made no
comment, but old Johnny said, "I suppose Scott will be taking Judith."
"I don't see why!" exclaimed Douglas suddenly.
"You're all rejus like in the church now. You ain't got the time for
womaning. Are you still fond of Jude?" peering at Douglas anxiously.
"I guess you know how I feel about Judith, Johnny," said Doug in a low
voice.
"Like I used to feel about her mother?" The old man put a hand on Doug's
arm.
Douglas nodded.
"And would it break your heart if Scott or any other man got her?"
Douglas nodded again, then rose. "I think I'll run down to see her a
minute. I won't be gone long."
Mr. Fowler smiled. "Good luck to you, boy!"
"Keep your fingers crossed for me," said Doug, slamming out of the door.
Judith kept her finger in "Vanity Fair." "We were all going in a crowd,"
she said. "You've been cutting us a good deal lately. Why not come in
out of the wet and be just one of us?"
"I want to take you, myself," insisted Douglas in a low voice. They were
standing in the kitchen, with the door into the living-room closed. "I
want you to wear that white dress with the thing-ma-jiggers on the waist
and your hair all loose around your face. And I'm going to make love to
you every minute."
His eyes were entirely earnest. Judith smiled, then drew a sudden short
breath. The color deepened in her cheeks, then retreated.
"All right, Douglas! I'll go with you!" she said.
Douglas looked at her as if he scarcely believed the evidence of his
ears. Then he flushed. "Thank you, Judith," he said. "Good-night!" and
he bolted into the night.
On Saturday evening, old Johnny was restless. "I have a feeling like I
ought to sleep in the chapel," he said.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Douglas, who was knotting a wonderful new blue
neckerchief around his throat. "Everybody will be at the party. You two
keep each other company and have the coffee-pot going for me when I get
home."
"Charleton ain't going to be at the party," said Johnny. "I heard Jimmy
Day deponing at the post-office to-day that Charleton was still off on a
trip."
Douglas hesitated and looked at Mr. Fowler. "Go along, Douglas," said
the preacher. "We'll bolt the door and no one is going to bother us two
old men. You can't sit over me like a mother hen all the time, you
know."
"All right," agreed Douglas. "I suppose I do act like an old woman. I'll
be home a little after midnight."
The dance was in full swing by the time Douglas and Judith reached the
hall, with all the Lost Chief familiars present except Charleton. Inez
came with Scott. The vague feeling of uneasiness that Johnny's report
had given him did not leave Douglas, not even when he swung into his
first dance with Judith. She looked into his eyes mischievously.
"This is nice, Doug, but is it what you call making love?"
Douglas laughed. "Give me time to find words, Jude!" His arm tightened
around her, but his face settled with worried lines.
"What's the matter, Douglas?" asked Judith.
"I don't know. I just have the feeling that something is going wrong."
"It would be a foolish feeling if Charleton were here," said Judith.
"But ever since poor old Prince--you know--I've had the feeling that
Charleton was just waiting for a chance to hurt you."
"Has he said anything to you?" quickly.
"Of course not! Charleton is clever. Well, don't let it spoil your
evening, Douglas. You knew you were courting trouble when you took the
preacher in."
"And I sure have found it!" exclaimed Douglas with sudden cheerfulness.
"If they don't hurt my old sky pilot, I don't care. Come on, Jude, a
little more pep, if you please!"
Judith chuckled. "Ah! perhaps this is your idea of love making!"
"You'll recognize it all right when I begin," said Douglas, skilfully
steering Jude past his father, who had been visiting the pail in the
corner and was swinging Inez in a wild fandango down the center of the
room.
Douglas had not the least desire to dance with any one but Judith, and
when she danced with other men he wandered uneasily around the room.
About eleven o'clock he missed Scott. "Where's Scott gone?" he asked
Jimmy.
"O he only stayed for the first dance! I guess he and Inez had a row."
Douglas scowled thoughtfully and wandered over to the phonograph, which
Peter was manipulating.
"Where's Charleton, Peter?"
"He went out after a stray stallion he thinks has wandered up on Lost
Chief."
Douglas gave Peter a startled glance. "Jimmy Day just said he'd gone
into Mountain City."
Peter shrugged his shoulders. "All I know is what Charleton told me last
Monday." He slid a new record into the machine.
"Wait a moment!" Douglas put his hand on the starting-lever. "Isn't that
the telephone ringing downstairs?"
Peter listened; then nodded.
"I'll answer it!" exclaimed Douglas.
He dashed downstairs and jerked the receiver off the hook. "I want Doug!
I gotta depone to Doug," came a breathless old voice over the wire.
"Yes, Johnny, here I am! Where are you?"
"At Mary's. They got the preacher, Doug!"
"Who? Be cool now, Johnny, and help me. Who did it?"
"Two men. They had things over their faces and they were loco and they
never--never--" Johnny's voice trailed into an incoherent muttering.
Douglas jammed up the receiver and leaped back up the stairs. He spoke
hurriedly to Peter. "They've got the preacher. I can't get sense out of
Johnny. You take care of Jude."
He jerked on his mackinaw and darted for the door. Peter followed him
into the cold starlight.
"Wait a moment, Doug. You'd better let me give a general alarm."
"Maybe they're all in on it!" Douglas paused with his hand on the pommel
of his saddle. Then he gave a hoarse cry, pointing as he did so at Dead
Line Peak. "Peter! There's a fire up there!"
He leaped into the saddle and drove the spurs home. The Moose broke into
a gallop. A moment later there were shouts on the trail behind him.
"Keep going, old trapper! The birthday party is with you!" roared Jimmy
Day.
Douglas did not reply. He saw the flames leap higher as he covered the
miles. He felt rage mounting swiftly within him, rage that was akin to
what he had felt over the shooting of old Prince, but a thousand times
more poignant. But he handled the old Moose coolly. Up the ever-rising
trail, between drifted fences, up and up, with the Moose groaning
for breath, until the quivering aspens showed clear and black against
the leaping flames.
He threw himself from his horse, conscious now of a confusion of voices
behind him, of dogs barking, horses groaning and squealing, and coyotes
shrieking excitedly from the blue spruce thicket behind the corral. The
cabin and the chapel were in full flame. Old Johnny limped up to
Douglas. Douglas put a gentle hand on the quivering old shoulder.
"Johnny, when did they come?"
"Right soon."
"You mean after I had gone."
"Yes. They broke the window out. I knew it would happen. This is an
awful gregus bad valley."
"Steady now, old boy! Did they hurt the sky pilot?"
"No. They tied him up and took him away. Then I rode down to telephone
and they burned it."
"Who was it, Johnny?"
"I don't know but I depone it was Scott and Charleton. They never spoke
but I depone it. Like it was Charleton and John tied me to the mule and
that was how."
"Steady, Johnny! Which way did they go?"
"I don't know. I was riding down to Mary. I knew Mary--"
"Steady, Johnny." Douglas looked up at the circle of faces.
"Is there anybody friendly enough here, if they knew who did this, to
tell me?"
There was no reply, and Peter said, "I don't think if it was Scott and
Charleton working together, they'd confide in anybody!"
There was a murmur of assent. Douglas stood, the kind hand still on
Johnny's shoulder, drawing long shuddering breaths.
"If they hurt my old sky pilot," he said, "God pity 'em, for I sha'n't.
'Are any of you folks going to help me organize a hunt for him?"
"How do you know the two old fools didn't set fire to it themselves?"
demanded John thickly. "The sky pilot was in bad and that would be a
good way out."
Douglas swung himself up on the Moose. In the vivid light his lips were
twisted contemptuously.
"Glad to help you out personally any way, Doug!" exclaimed Jimmy Day.
"But you'd better let the sky pilot go. They ain't going to hurt him.
You've been the church buildingest damn fool in the Rockies."
"Speak for yourself, Jimmy!" cried Peter. "I'm with you, Doug."
"And so am I!" exclaimed Judith. "This is the rottenest trick ever
sprung in Lost Chief!"
"You will not stir a step after the preacher, miss!" roared John.
Douglas stood in the stirrups facing his old friends and neighbors. But
words failed him. He spurred the Moose out onto the trail.
Peter urged his horse up beside the Moose. "Where are you heading for,
Doug? You mustn't go off half-cocked."
"I'm going down to Inez' place and see if I can sweat the truth out of
her."
"It's a slim chance!"
"I don't think so! It's too dark to follow tracks now, and you can bet
they've covered themselves well, anyhow. I have a feeling that Inez
knows. She must have been willing to murder the sky pilot after his
sermon. If we don't get anything out of her by dawn, we'll get Frank Day
and start. I know I can count on him."
"Well, perhaps you're right. Inez has been venomous about this and I
can't say that I blame her. Easy now, Doug. The Moose is about all in."
Douglas grunted and the way to Inez' house was covered in silence.
Douglas had no sense of confusion, nor of defeat. He was angry, but with
his anger was a lust for battle and an exultation in the opportunity
for it that smacked almost of joy. I'll get him back, he told himself,
and I'll rebuild the chapel and I'll punish Charleton and Scott. Maybe I
am nothing but a rancher a thousand miles from anywhere but no old
crusader ever fought for the grail harder than I'm going to fight for my
little old sky pilot. And if they hurt him--! Old Moose groaned as
Douglas involuntarily thrust the spurs home.
There was a light in the kitchen of the Rodman ranch house. Douglas
banged on the door, and when Inez called, he strode in, followed by
Peter. Inez was sitting before the stove, on which a coffee-pot
simmered. Scott Parsons stood beside the fire, coffee-cup in hand.
Douglas helped himself to a chair and Peter imitated him.
"You folks didn't come up to my fire," said Doug.
Inez, who had followed his movements intently, smiled sardonically. "Did
you expect either of us?"
"Not exactly. I didn't expect to see Scott here, either. It was rumored
that you'd had a quarrel and that was why you left the party early."
Inez shrugged her shoulders. "Where's Judith?"
"She's probably helping old Johnny up at my place. There didn't seem to
be anybody else likely to stay, after the fireworks."
"And what are you and Peter doing down here at a time like this?" asked
Inez, looking at the postmaster as she spoke.
"I was going to get you to tell me what Scott and Charleton had told you
about this partnership affair of theirs. But as long as Scott is here,
I'll just sweat it out of him."
Scott laughed.
"What makes you think I know anything about it?"
"You have cause to hate the preacher more than any one," replied Douglas
simply.
Inez' chin came up proudly. "I'm glad you realize that!" she exclaimed.
"But it's not exactly evidence," said Scott suddenly, "that Charleton
and I had anything to do with the affair."
"No, nor, if they did put over the job, that I knew about it," added
Inez.
"Which job do you refer to?" asked Peter.
"Running the preacher," replied Inez.
"But how did you happen to know he had been run?" Peter's eyes were half
shut. "You came home early and didn't go up to the fire."
Inez bit her lip. Peter smiled grimly, his long, sallow face wearier
than ever in the lamplight. "You aren't the kind to get away with a
plot, Inez. Leave that to Charleton."
"No reason why some one couldn't have telephoned, is there?" demanded
Scott.
"No reason at all," replied Peter, "except that Inez' phone has been out
of order for a week and I promised to come up to-morrow and fix it for
her."
"I didn't think," said Douglas, "that you were the kind to get mixed up
in a rough deal like this, Inez. I'll admit that Fowler's sermon was raw
and all that, but still you are no hand to blink facts. Didn't you have
it coming to you?"
Inez' lip twitched. She looked from one man to the other, finally
focussing on Peter.
"Did I?" she asked.
"Yes, you did," he answered. "You've got to lay the blame finally on the
women. Otherwise civilization would cease."
"Oh, forget it!" growled Scott. "What are you dragging Inez in on this
for? She's always been a good friend to you, Peter."
"I like Inez," said Peter slowly, "but no one is a good friend of mine
who is bucking against Douglas in this stunt he's at himself. Douglas is
easily the coming man of this valley and if I'm not mistaken, of this
State, and I'm back of him, boots, spurs and saddle."
Douglas flushed and twisted uneasily in his chair.
Scott sneered, inaudibly. Inez stared at Douglas, nostrils quivering
slightly. "I've always admired Doug," she spoke coolly, "but it wasn't
playing the game for him to let the preacher attack me and I'll never
forgive him for it."
"I'll never ask you to!" exclaimed Douglas cheerfully. "And I'm not
going to start a debate with you. I know that Charleton and Scott put
over this deal and that you knew about it."
"I'm going to make just one statement." Inez was looking again at Peter.
"I think whoever set fire to your place, Douglas, was a fool and a
crook."
Scott buttoned up his mackinaw. "Well, I'll be riding. I'm a long way
from home."
Douglas stretched his right arm along the table. His six-shooter was in
his hand. "Don't hurry away, old-timer! I want to talk to you."
Scott stood rigidly, a forefinger in a buttonhole. "Don't get funny,
Doug. This ain't a sheep-herder's war."
"No, it's more serious than that," agreed Douglas. "You don't get the
idea, Scott. You can't run the preacher out of the Valley, because I
shall keep bringing him back. You can't burn down my chapel, because I
shall keep building it up. Now, you tell me what you know about this
man, because I don't calculate to let you eat, drink, or sleep until you
do tell."
"You must think I'm a tenderfoot! Inez, you open that door into the
yard."
"Peter, you engage Inez' attention, will you?" asked Douglas in his
gentle voice. "Now then, Scott, where is Fowler?"
Peter moved his chair over beside Inez. Scott made a wry face.
"I ain't his herder. That's your job. But you've sure lost him on the
range, Doug. A religious round-up ain't what you thought it was, huh?"
"Just keep both hands in the buttonholes. That's right, Scott. Now when
you get ready to tell daddy all your little sins, speak right up."
"Look here, Doug, don't you start any shooting in my house. I never have
had any trouble here and I'm not going to begin now. You'll never get
anything out of Scott, this way. You let him go."
Peter took Inez' hand. "My dear girl, you'd better keep out of this.
Douglas is a right nervous rider, to-night."
Inez attempted to free her hand. Peter smiled. "You can't be my friend
and Scott's too, you know."
"I don't want to be your friend!" panted Inez.
"Don't you?" asked Peter, looking at her through half-closed eyes. "Why
not, Inez?"
Douglas, intrigued in spite of himself by this half-whispered
conversation, glanced toward Inez. Instantly, Scott thrust the table
against him and leaped toward the door. But Doug thrust out a spurred
boot and the two young riders went down among the table legs. Inez
twisted in Peter's grasp, but he pinioned both of her hands and watched
the struggle anxiously. Suddenly he saw Douglas drive his knee violently
into Scott's groin. Scott groaned and went limp. Douglas got to his
knees and tied Scott's hands together with his own neckerchief. Then he
dragged Scott to a sitting position against the wall and again covered
him with his gun. Slowly the agony receded from Scott's face.
"Where's the preacher?" demanded Douglas.
Scott did not answer.
"I'm going to stay here till dawn," said Doug. "If you don't see fit to
answer by then, you'll start on the hunt with me. Think it over."
Peter, both of Inez' wrists in one of his long, powerful hands, put
fresh wood on the fire, then sat down again. Inez leaned against him,
breathing unevenly. For a long time, no one spoke. Douglas, the sense of
exultation still upon him, lighted cigarette after cigarette and waited
patiently. How long a time went by he did not trouble himself to note,
though he believed dawn could not be far distant.
The silence was broken by the galloping of a horse up to the door. A
moment later, Mary Spencer burst into the kitchen. She was wind-blown
and wild-eyed. Her coat was open. Her head was bare.
"Is Judith here?" she cried, without appearing to observe the peculiar
postures of the inmates of the kitchen.
"No!" exclaimed Inez. "What's happened?"
Douglas looked at his mother with startled eyes. "I don't know!" cried
Mary, bursting into tears.
Douglas tore down the roller-towel and tossed it to Peter.
"Tie up Scott's ankles. Inez won't bother!"
Inez, indeed, was giving no heed to the men. She ran over to Mary. "For
heaven's sake, what's happened?"
Mary wiped her eyes and fought to speak calmly. "Up at the fire she
insisted that she was going out to help find the preacher. John had been
drinking and he argued with her, and followed her down the trail. They
quarrel so much I didn't think anything of it. I stayed a long while up
at the fire with the others. Then I went home. I noticed when I turned
old Beauty into the corral that it was empty, and I was surprised. I
hadn't thought Judith would start out till daylight. I rushed into the
house. The living-room table had been tipped over and the chairs pulled
round. I telephoned everywhere, but nobody had seen her. And this 'phone
wouldn't answer. Old Johnny came down and he rode toward the post-office
and I came here."
Douglas started for the door.
"Where are you going?" asked Peter.
"After Judith!"
"What about Scott and the preacher?"
Douglas turned to face the others, his lips white, his eyes burning.
"What do I care about them, when Judith is in question!"
"You go ahead, Doug!" cried Inez. "Don't wait for anything. Judith's
been talking about running away for years, but she never planned to go
off in the winter, I can tell you that."
"John had been drinking, you must remember," half-sobbed Mary. "He's
always so ugly then."
Douglas rushed out of the door. Peter followed him. "I'm going up to the
old ranch and see if I can pick up their trail. I need another horse. My
corral is cleared out and Dad's is too. But I--O, Peter!" Douglas' voice
broke.
"Keep your nerve up, Douglas. I've got a couple of horses in fair
condition down at my place. We'll ride there after we look over things
at your father's ranch."
They hardly had cleared the corral when Mary overtook them. She was
still crying, but except for her sobs they rode in a heavy silence to
the ranch house.
Old Johnny was gone. They found a curious note on the kitchen table.
"Going after Jud for Douglas. J.B."
"She's started for Mountain City, I'm certain," said Mary. "She's been
terribly uneasy ever since Doug left home, always saying a girl had no
chance to make anything of herself here. It would be exactly like her to
lose her temper and start off, hard pelt on that hundred-mile ride with
no preparations at all."
"That's not what worries me," said Peter. "It's John when he's drunk."
"It's light enough to start!" exclaimed Douglas. "Mother, you give us
some breakfast. Let's roll up some blankets and take some grub and get
gone, Peter."
In little more than a half-hour they were on the trail. And all the
exultation which had carried Douglas through the night had fled, leaving
him with the sense of impending calamity that had spoiled the dance for
him. And he knew now that it had been a well-founded prescience. A door
had closed behind him, forever, and, with horror in his heart, he was
facing a void. For something had gone wrong with Judith. And Judith was
his life.