Judith of the Godless Valley Part 18

"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 finis.h.i.+ng the evening ch.o.r.es 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+rt was hanging by a thread. His face was bleeding from many scratches, but he grinned amicably as he slid wearily from the saddle.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 h.e.l.l, Scott!" grunted Douglas.

Scott sat up with a jerk. Charleton spoke sharply. "No sc.r.a.pping! 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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 G.o.d, I'll keep him now!"