Judith of the Godless Valley Part 68

"And so," said Douglas, "you are through with love and marriage. Yet no human being can be happy without both. Life is like that."

Judith sprang to her feet and Douglas rose with her. She began to walk rapidly up and down before the fire. It was so evident that a tempest was raging within her that Douglas watched her with astonishment and dismay. The suns.h.i.+ne flickered gloriously through the cedar branches.

Wolf Cub gave cry after a coyote. It might have been a moment or a lifetime to the young rider before Judith halted in front of him. Her tear-stained face was tense. Her wide eyes burned with a light he never before had seen in them.

"And if," she exclaimed, "I told you that I loved you; that for years I had fought off a love for you that was like a burning flame in my heart; if I told you that to me you are as beautiful as all the lovers in the world; but that I never, never would give myself to you in marriage, what would you say?"

Douglas' gloved hands clenched and unclenched, as he fought for self control. After a moment he managed to return, steadily, "I'd ask you why?"

The tensity of Judith's expression did not relax. "I've told you why. I cannot bear to think of killing love by marriage. And it always works so. Always. And yet, O Douglas, I love you, love you!"

Douglas threw back his head with a sudden breath, swept Judith into his arms and kissed her, kissed her with all the ardor of years of repression. Judith clung to him as if she could not let him go. And yet, when he lifted his face from hers, she said, none the less firmly because her voice was husky:

"But, Douglas, I won't marry you!"

Douglas lifted his chin. "Perhaps you won't, my dearest! I'm not going to let that thought spoil the big moment of my life."

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, at the long brilliant face beneath the beaver cap, at the fine steel slenderness of her, and then he said in his low-voiced way:

"O Judith! Judith! why didn't you tell me, long ago!"

"Because nothing would satisfy you but marriage," replied Judith, with a half sob.

Douglas smiled wistfully. "But I haven't changed! Why did you tell me now?"

"I didn't want to! I didn't mean to! But I couldn't help it. You saved my life, Doug! It ought to belong to you, but O, I can't give it to you!

I must go on. I must find out what is the thing I'm meant to do. I must!"

Douglas turned from her troubled face to gaze at the mad descent that must be made before Johnson's Basin could be won. Then he put up his hand and turned her face to follow his glance.

"Judith, do you think that I can let you go down there? If it was impossible before, think how I feel about it now I know that you love me. Somehow we have got to compromise on this thing, my dearest."

Judith clung to him. "I don't want to leave you, Douglas. But I can't go back to Lost Chief. I can't!"

Douglas held her close and for a long moment there was no sound in the wide solitudes except the Wolf Cub's faint hunting-cry.

At last Douglas said slowly, "If I give you my word that I'll take you out to Mountain City as soon as I can outfit, will you come back to Nelson's with me? Look at me, Jude!"

Judith lifted her eyes and searched Doug's face long and wistfully. Then she said, brokenly, "Yes, I'll come, if you will give me your promise.

Not because I think it's sensible but because, now I've given away this much, I don't want to be separated from you till--till I've unpacked my heart to you!"

"And after you've done that," asked Douglas, "do you think I can ever let you go?"

"But I thought you were not going to spoil this moment by arguing about marriage!" exclaimed Judith.

"I'll not!" cried Douglas. "Truly, I'll not."

The Wolf Cub trotted importantly into the camp with a scrawny jack-rabbit dragging against his s.h.a.ggy gray breast. Douglas gave a quick look at the sky.

"Judith, either we must put this place into shape for a night camp or we must strike out at once so as to get over the Pa.s.s to-night."

"We'd better break camp," said Judith. "It's getting frightfully cold and there's mighty little fodder left."

They fell to work swiftly, and before the Wolf Cub had half finished his meal they were on the march. Douglas led on Tom, followed by his pack-horse. Judith followed on the little wild mare. The crest of Black Devil hung over their heads, the purple of his front crosshatched by myriad crevisses filled with peac.o.c.k-blue snow. The same strange blue snow had obliterated their trail, and Tom, his b.l.o.o.d.y flanks deep in the drifts, leaped and slid and turned, leaving a wake, Judith said, like that of a drunken elephant.

The drifts had blown clear of the narrow ridge down which poor Buster had slid. They dared not trust the horses here, but dismounted and crept gingerly across, the animals slipping and snorting behind them. They rested after the crossing, and Douglas saw that tears were frozen on Judith's lashes.

"Judith, I believe the old horse was glad to go in service that way,"

he said.

Judith shook her head. "It's been a terribly expensive trip," she said.

"Old Johnny and Buster."

"Expensive for them, yes,--poor old scouts both of them," Douglas sighed, then added, "But, G.o.d, what a marvelous trip for me!"

"And for me!" Judith nodded soberly.

They beat their hands across their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and remounted, silently.

All the brilliant afternoon, they worked their uneven way upward. Each of the horses was down again and again. Both Judith and Douglas were bruised and cut by ice. Both were drawing breath in rapid sobs when, just before sunset, they fought the last few yards to the level of the Pa.s.s, won to it, and lay on the icy ledge, exhausted. Wolf Cub nosed them and whined disconsolately.

"You're right--old hunter--!" gasped Douglas. "If we--don't--keep moving--the cold--will get us!"

Judith, who had been lying on her back staring at the sky, rolled over on her face and struggled to her hands and knees.

"Keep that--wild--elephant--you call--a horse in a long lead--or he'll step on you--Doug!" she called.

"Give me--a long--start, then!"

Douglas started forward on hands and knees. The little wild mare was as careful in following Judith as was the Wolf Cub. But Tom gave constant evidence of an earnest desire to walk on Douglas instead of the trail.

He was too tired now, however, to be ugly, and the Pa.s.s was crossed without accident or incident.

It was dusk when they made the great rocks where Douglas had camped before. Judith's strength was gone. She pulled the reins over the little wild mare's head and tried to pull her ax from its sheath. But her benumbed fingers refused to act.

"Keep moving, Jude!" urged Douglas. "Just till I can get a fire started.

Don't stop walking for a moment!"

When at last a blaze was going before the rocks, Doug unrolled the blankets from the lead-horse and wrapped Judith in them. She crouched against the face of the rocks in silence while Douglas put the coffee-pot to boil and thawed out the bacon. It was not until she had swallowed a second cup of the steaming beverage that the snow stupor left her eyes.

Suddenly she smiled, and said, "It almost nipped us that time, Douglas!"

"And yet you thought you could make Bowdin's ranch alone!" grunted Douglas.

"It would have been getting warmer all the time. There would have been nothing like this!" s.h.i.+vering as a great blast of wind swept over the top of the rock heap.

"You risked death in every step," insisted Douglas. "It was like going down a canyon wall, not a mountainside. The drifts and ice made it impossible to tell how your next movement would end."

"Well," sighed Judith, "I don't think I'm regretting my decision. This might be worse," stretching out her mittened hands to the blaze.

"Nice, girlish kind of amus.e.m.e.nts you enjoy!" grunted Douglas, with a little grin. "Something quiet and restful about playing games with you, Jude! Now listen, my dearest, don't close your eyes until I tell you you may. A night camp under Black Devil Pa.s.s is plain suicide, if you forget for a moment."