Judith of the Godless Valley Part 62

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 b.u.t.toned 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 b.u.t.tonhole. "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 b.u.t.tonholes. 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 n.o.body 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.

CHAPTER XVI