Judith of the Godless Valley. Honoré Morrow

bed. Not long after, Mrs. Spencer came in, glanced at her husband, sighed wearily, then she too went to bed. Judith finished wiping the dishes, sauntered in to the center table and shortly was absorbed in "Bleak House." Mrs. Spencer was snoring quietly and Douglas had not stirred for an hour when he heard his father say in a low voice:

      "Jude, old girl, I'm never going to lay finger on you again."

      Jude gave a little gasp of surprise. "What's happened, Dad?"

      "You've happened! By jove, you've grown to be a beautiful woman!"

      "Huh! Doug says I'm a homely, pug-nosed outlaw."

      "Doug's a fool kid. It takes a man like me that knows women to appreciate you, Jude."

      "Doug'll hear you," warned the girl.

      "He's been dead for an hour. Give me a kiss, Judith."

      "I don't think I will, I'm too sleepy and tired. Guess I'll go to bed!"

       She rose, dropping "Bleak House" as she did so.

      Mrs. Spencer woke with a start. "What's the matter?"

      "Nothing! I just dropped a book." Judith retired to her own corner and shortly she too was asleep.

      But Douglas, new thoughts surging through his brain, lay awake long after his father had turned out the light and crawled in beside Mary. Of a sudden, he had seen Judith through his father's eyes and he found himself very unwilling to permit John to see her so. Her loneliness had assumed an entirely new aspect to him. It was the loneliness of girlhood, of girlhood without father, mother, or brother. That was what it amounted to, he told himself. He never had been a real brother to Judith, never had looked out for her as if she had been his sister. And Jude's mother! Just tired and sweet and broken, about as well fitted to cope with her fiery daughter as with the unbroken Morgan colt which was John's pride. As for his father—! Douglas turned over with a deep breath. Let his father take heed! Judith! Judith with her glowing wistful eyes, her crimson cheeks, her dauntless courage, her vivid mind! Judith, with her loneliness, was his to guard from now on. Funny how a guy could feel so all of a sudden! Funny, if he really should love old Jude, with her fiery temper and more fiery tongue. And if this were love, love was not so comfortable a feeling, after all. It was a profound uneasiness, that uprooted every settled habit of his spiritual being. It was, he told himself, before he fell asleep, a funny thing, love!

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      OSCAR JEFFERSON

      "Help those that need help."

      —Grandma Brown.

      The next morning while Doug was feeding in the corral, his father hitched a team to the hay wagon. Just as he prepared to climb over the wheel, Judith came out, ready for her ride to the Days' ranch, where she was to spend the day.

      "Say, Jude," called John. "I want Doug to go to the old ranch after some colts. You come with me and help feed. I'm going to get all I can out of you two until school begins again."

      Judith crossed silently to the wagon and climbed aboard. Douglas dropped his pitchfork and walked deliberately toward the fence. As he climbed it, he said, "Judith, you aren't going. You keep your date with Maud." He dropped from the fence to his father's side.

      John turned to him with a look of entire astonishment.

      "Jude's growing up, as you say," explained Douglas heavily. "If you aren't going to look out for her, I am."

      "O, you are! And why?" demanded his father.

      "Because!" replied Doug. "Jude, you get down and get started on Swift."

      Astonishment, amusement, anger, pursued their way across the older man's face. Judith put out her tongue at her brother.

      "Chase yourself, Doug Spencer! You're not my boss, you bet!"

      John put his foot on the hub. "Good-by, Doug; I hope you recover from your insanity by to-night."

      Douglas put an unsteady hand on his father's shoulder. "She can't go with you, Dad!"

      His father struck him roughly aside. Douglas ran around the wagon. Judith was sitting on the edge of the rick. He reached up, pulled her into his arms, ran her into the feed shed, turned the key in the padlock and put the key in his pocket. As he turned, his father met him with a blow between the eyes. Mary Spencer appeared on the doorstep, pale and silent.

      It was but the work of a moment to subdue the boy, and to unlock the door.

      "Get into the wagon, Judith!" ordered John.

      Douglas strode uncertainly to his father's side. "Judith, you go get on your horse!"

      The young girl stood staring at the two, something impish in the curl of her lips, something wistful and unafraid and puzzled in her beautiful gray eyes. Back of the two men lay the unblemished blue white of the snow-choked fields and in awful proximity to these, Dead Line Peak flung its head against the cloudless heavens. Judith looked from the Peak to father and son as though deliberately appraising them. John, with ashen hair, with bloodshot eyes and the tell-tales lines from nose to lip corner, but handsome, dominating, choleric, with his reputation as a conqueror of women, as a subduer of horses, as a two-gun man. Douglas, with his thatch of gold blowing in the cold morning air, thin, awkward, only a boy but with a spirit glowing in his blue eyes that Judith never before had seen there. The girls of Lost Chief were sophisticated almost from the cradle. Judith could interpret the lines in her stepfather's face. But she did not know what the strange light in Douglas' eyes might mean. Suddenly she sprang to Swift's back and put her to the gallop.

      "You know what to expect when you come back, miss!" roared John.

      But Judith did not seem to hear. Spencer turned to his son. "Now, sir, you go into the house and get the whip!"

      Douglas did not stir. "You aren't going to whip me any more, Dad. If you want to fight me, put up your fists."

      Mary Spencer ran through the snow toward the two. "Don't fight him, John!

       Don't! He's just a child!"

      John whirled at her with his fists raised. Douglas jumped before his step-mother and caught the blow on his raised elbow.

      "And that'll be about enough of that, too, Dad!"

      John caught his breath, then poured out a string of oaths and invectives, ending with, "Now before I thrash the cussedness out of you, young fellow, what excuse have you got to put up?"

      "I haven't any." Douglas was still pale and his voice broke, childishly. "Only, all of a sudden it seems cowardly to me for you to hit Mother. She's not a child. You haven't got the excuse that you're training her. And you know she can't hit you. You're a good fighter, but I notice you don't hit Peter Knight or Charleton Falkner, any time they peeve you a little. It was all right to lick me and Jude when we were little. But now I warn you. I'm going to hit back. And you got to leave Judith and her mother alone."

      John Spencer stood staring at his son. Twice he raised his heavy fist to strike him. Twice he dropped it. Douglas, still pale and trembling, wondered at his own temerity. He always had been so terribly afraid of his father!

      "So you don't intend to obey me any more!" sneered John.

      "Sure I do," replied Douglas. "Only I'm not going to be licked into doing things blind, and I'm going to take care of Jude."

      John uttered a contemptuous oath.

      Doug swallowed with an effort but his steady temper was well under control and he went on, "I'd like to be as good a rider and rancher as you are and handle a gun as good as you do, but I'm hanged if I want my woman to be as scared of me as Mother is of you."

      "Think yourself a man, eh? Well, I'll tell you, young fellow,