Judith of the Godless Valley Part 44

"His grandfather Douglas!" cried John. "Why, the old man would kick the stones off his grave if he knew what his grandson was up to. He used to boast that he came West just to get rid of the Presbyterians and the Allopaths. Nothing he hated like a sky pilot!"

Douglas rose and shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said, "if I'm as popular with the rest of the Valley as I am with my family, I'm liable to have my head turned before this thing is over," and he went out to attend to his ch.o.r.es.

As he paused by the corral fence to watch the little wild horse standing motionless over the untasted hay, Judith joined him.

"Looks as if Dad might be right about her," he said.

"I'd like to try my hand at her, Douglas." Judith's voice was eager.

"You may have her, Jude. I was hoping to bring you in two or three, but Fate said otherwise."

"I'm much obliged to you, Douglas," said Judith soberly. "You are always mighty generous--" She hesitated for a moment. "I wish you weren't going in for this thing with the preacher, Doug."

"O well, let's drop the matter!" said Douglas wearily, and without a word further Judith turned away.

The next morning at breakfast, John was irritable and would not let the subject of Fowler's coming rest.

"What did Charleton say?" he asked.

"Charleton doesn't know," replied Douglas, patiently. "He wasn't there when I talked it over with the preacher."

"I'll bet he wasn't or you never would have gotten away with it,"

growled John.

"Sure! I'm a nervous man about Charleton," grinned Douglas. "Come now, Dad! Why should you be sore at the idea?"

"Lots of reasons! I hate a man who thinks he's enough superior to me to tell me how to behave. And I feel sore as a pup that my son should be bringing such a man into the Valley. All the folks will say you are criticizing them. I'm not going to let you do it, Douglas!"

Douglas gave a short laugh, which was echoed by Judith.

John grew red. "My father would have thrashed me when I was a grown man if I'd laughed at him like that!"

"O well, look at the man he was!" chuckled Judith.

"Don't you speak that way to me!" roared John. "The children of this generation certainly are a bad lot! But one thing you two will remember.

I'm master of this house and as long as you stay here you'll obey me!

And you just let me hear you telling anybody, Doug, of your crazy plan and you'll learn for the first time what I am!"

"Then you won't help me put up my buildings?" asked Douglas.

"Not for the use of any fool preacher!" shouted his father.

Douglas lighted a cigarette and went out. For the first time a sense of disappointment marred the beauty of the plan he had perfected with the preacher. He realized now that he had counted on Judith's being interested even were she antagonistic. But she was indifferent. He would have preferred that she be resentful like his father. There was nothing tangible there to struggle against. One could neither fight nor urge indifference. Then he set his jaws. Judith should see! He knew whither he was going now. He had found the fine straight line of which Peter had spoken, long ago, and he would hew to it, at whatever cost. And Judith could not, must not fail him. If only he knew the things she really thought! His jaw was still set as he watched the little wild mare, now ceaselessly circling the corral fence, her face to the hills. Judith crossed to the bars and Douglas turned away.

There still was too much frost in the ground for spring work on the ranch and it would be a month before the cattle could be driven up into the Reserve. It was during this month that Douglas had planned to put up two cabins on his ranch, one for the church, the other for himself and Fowler to occupy. He had acc.u.mulated a sufficient number of logs to more than supply his needs and he had counted on his father's help in erecting the buildings. He wondered now if Peter would help him, and old Johnny Brown. That afternoon he rode down to the post-office.

Peter was breathlessly interested. "You'd better keep it quiet, Doug, till the old man gets here," he said. "If you get old Johnny up there, don't give him an inkling."

Douglas nodded. "Then I can count on you, Peter?"

The postmaster eyed the young rider keenly. John Spencer had never been the man his son had grown to be!

"Do you mean count on me for the plan or the cabins?" asked Peter.

"Both!"

"Yes, you can, Douglas! I don't know whether the plan is a good one or not. But I'm delighted to see you taking a step like this. It's gratifying to me, Doug. It is indeed; and I know your mother would have been delighted." Peter's voice broke, and he said harshly, "Now, get along, Doug. I've got to sort the mail."

For the first time that day, Douglas' lips wore a little smile. He whistled to Prince, who had grown too lazy of late to propitiate Sister as he had in his younger days and who was keeping that growling old Amazon at her distance by snapping at her viciously. Prince lunged over to Pard's heels and Doug started off for his call on Johnny Brown.

"I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" asked old Johnny. "It's been a gregus long time and I'm only half-muscled as well as half-witted now. But I'll come. I'd help you build a cabin in h.e.l.l if you wanted me to. Honest, I would, Doug."

Douglas did not laugh. "Thanks, Johnny! Then I'll look for you to-morrow."

"I deponed I'd come, didn't I?" repeated the old fellow, and he was still deponing when Douglas started homeward.

Peter inveigled Young Jeff into taking the post-office for a couple of weeks. Post-office keeping did not accord at all with the ideas of pleasant living of the native-born of Lost Chief. Undoubtedly if Peter had not offered his services year after year there would have been, a great part of the time, no post-office in the Valley. But Peter had means of his own with which to piece out the salary and for some inscrutable reason he clung to the sort of prestige he enjoyed in the community as a Federal employee. His friends always protested violently at subst.i.tuting for him, but always gave in, fearful lest Peter carry out his threat of giving up the job. So he appeared at Douglas' ranch, bright and early, bringing a graphic account of Young Jeff's despair over a pile of second-cla.s.s mail.

Lost Chief Creek bordered one edge of Douglas' acres. Dead Line Peak pushed an abrupt shoulder into the stream at the northwest corner. Below this shoulder lay a grove of silvery aspens and of blue spruce, dripping with great bronze cones. Just above the flood line of the creek, Douglas trimmed out enough trees from the grove to give elbow-room for the cabins and corrals. By the end of Peter's two weeks, the heaviest part of the building had been done.

On the last day of the fortnight--it had been a very pleasant fortnight for Peter--he and Douglas dawdled long over their noon meal while old Johnny began the work he loved, the c.h.i.n.king of the log walls. Leaning against a log at the edge of the clearing, Lost Chief Valley sloped below them. A blue line of smoke rose from the Spencer chimney.

"Dad is sure sore at me this time," said Douglas. "He's hardly spoken to me for a week."

"About Fowler, I suppose."

"Yes. He feels that I am disgracing him. He's sure I'm going to turn religious. I can't make him believe that that is not why I'm bringing Fowler in."

"What is your real reason, Doug?" asked Peter, taking a huge bite of cold fried beef.

"I don't want to turn religious. I don't want to be anything that's queer or unreasonable. What I want is to get to believe--in a future life."

Peter laughed. "Isn't that religion?"

"I don't think so! You can believe in immortality without believing in miracles and that Eve was made out of a man's rib, and without being goody-goody."

Peter made no comment for a moment. He finished his beef and lighted his pipe before he said, "I have an idea that the kind of a mind that can believe in the soul's floating around in s.p.a.ce can swallow the rib story without much choking. What I want to see in Lost Chief is the kind of ethics that Christ taught."

"Ethics! Ethics!" scoffed the younger man. "Who gives a hang about ethics if they aren't going to help us live again? You can bet I don't!

Ethics may do for a cold-blooded guy like you, Peter. But me! I want something as big and as real and as warm-looking as Fire Mesa."

"Poor old Fowler!" groaned Peter.

Douglas glanced at the postmaster questioningly; then his eyes wandered back toward the ranch house. A tiny figure in blue leaped on a horse and was off at a gallop.

"Judith's going to Inez' place," said Douglas.

"She sees too much of Inez!" Peter scowled. "Her mind is getting exactly Inez' twist to it."