Judith of the Godless Valley Part 45

"There was a time when you told me Inez could give Judith good advice."

Doug's voice was bitter.

"So she could. But I never said Inez and Jude should be buddies, did I?"

Douglas threw his cigarette into the creek and rolled over on his face with a groan. "I'm sick of worrying about it!" he said.

"Does she still talk about going the round of the rodeos with a string of buckers?"

"No. She says that was just kid stuff. She has an idea now she'll breed thoroughbred horses." Douglas turned over on his back and gazed up into the heavens, where an eagle hung, motionless.

"Lord! Breeding horses is no work for Jude!" cried Peter.

Douglas did not reply. Peter eyed the young man's clean, hawk-like profile and went on. "What does she say about you and Fowler?"

"She laughs at me."

"Do you think you can get her in touch with Fowler?"

Douglas sat up with a jerk. "Get her in touch with him? Say, what do you think I'm bringing that sky pilot in here for? You can bet she'll get in touch with him! I'll show that girl I haven't played all my cards yet!"

Peter stared long and unblinkingly at Douglas. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!"

he muttered and filled his pipe again.

The summer pa.s.sed for Douglas with extraordinary rapidity. Profiting by the experience of the previous winter, every rancher put in as heavy a grain crop as he could handle and there was little leisure in the Valley during July and August. Lost Chief was, of course, immensely interested in Doug's building operations. He was accused of planning to be married and conjecture ran rife. When he began work in the interior of the log chapel, he hung burlap bags over the windows and locked the doors. But his precautions were futile. By the middle of June, every ranch in the valley was talking about Douglas Spencer's motion-picture hall and wondered why he was building it so far from the center of the community. The truth came out in an entirely unexpected manner.

About a week before he expected the preacher, Douglas rode down in the evening for his mail. Peter had gone to Mountain City on a rare visit and Young Jeff was acting as postmaster again. Scott Parsons was helping him sort the mail and it was Scott who fell upon a battered suitcase, tied with frayed rope.

"What's this mess?" he exclaimed. "Let's see this tag." He shoved the suitcase close to the lamp. "'The Rev. Mr. James Fowler. Care of Douglas Spencer.'" Scott looked up with an oath. "What do you know about this!"

he gasped.

Douglas, standing with his back to the cold stove, said nothing.

Young Jeff dropped the handful of letters he was distributing, and examined the tag for himself. "Old Fowler, eh? Thought he was dead long ago. What's he coming to see you for, Doug? Going to preach--" He paused and his eyes grew round. "Doug's motion-picture theater! The sky pilot!

That cabin is a church!"

Scott gave a gasp, followed by a shout of laughter. "How about it, Doug?"

Douglas grinned.

"What are you doing, Douglas? Starting a ranch for broken-down sky pilots?" asked Young Jeff.

Still Douglas made no reply. He strode over to the table and put his hand on the suitcase.

"Hold on!" protested Scott. "Answer a few questions. What are you trying to put over on us, Douglas?"

"You'll know, pretty soon," answered Doug.

"Well, you always were loco but I never thought you'd get real dangerous, till now!" exclaimed Young Jeff. "Listen, don't try to put that guy over on us, Doug!"

Scott stood eying Douglas with a mixture of curiosity and impatience in his hard eyes. He had just parted his lips to speak when the door opened and Charleton and Jimmy came in.

"Look at here, Charleton!" roared Young Jeff. "Look at the address on this bag!"

The two newcomers scrutinized the tag. "Well," said Jimmy, "I'll be everlastingly dehorned, vaccinated and branded!"

Charleton's mouth twisted. "So the old fool got you, Doug! You've got hard nerve, that's all I have to say!"

"Nerve! I'll say so!" cried Scott. "What's the great idea, Doug? Going to bring Lost Chief up to your level, huh?"

Douglas' cheeks were burning. He jerked the suitcase from the table and started for the door.

"Believe me, cowman," called Scott after him, "you and the sky pilot have laid out a course of trouble for yourselves."

Douglas paused with his hand on the latch. "You are a pack of coyotes!"

he said and he slammed the door after himself.

And so the secret was out! Nothing that had occurred in the Valley for years had stirred the ranchers so deeply. There was much joking and derisive laughter but beneath this was a sense of resentment that grew day by day. Grandma Brown, Peter of course, and Frank Day were sympathetic to the idea. Some of the older women wondered if it might not be a good thing in giving the young fry a place to go on Sundays.

But the young fry, with huge enjoyment not untinged with malice, planned to run the preacher out of the Valley in short order and to mete out such treatment to Douglas as would prevent his making a like fool of himself again.

Douglas had set up housekeeping in the new cabin now, and on the night before he expected Mr. Fowler, Judith rode up to see his new home. Old Johnny had gone down to the post-office and Douglas finished his supper and was sitting on the doorstep when Judith galloped up, with the Wolf Cub under the heels of her mount.

"This is my first real ride on the little wild mare," she said, dropping from the saddle.

"Has she gotten over her homesickness, yet?" asked Douglas.

"I think so. At least, she follows me around about as close as Wolf Cub does."

"You are a wonder, Judith! I wish you thought as much of me as you do of your horses and dog."

"You wouldn't let me train you, Doug," said Judith plaintively.

Douglas laughed. "A whole lot you'd think of a man you could train!"

Judith laughed, too, sitting down on the step beside Douglas. For a moment she was silent, then she said softly: "How you must love it up here!"

"I do! But I'll be glad when old Johnny can be with me all the time. I don't like this bachelor stuff."

"You and Scott ought to join forces," Judith's voice was mischievous.

"By the way, Scott's heard of a standard bred mare he can get me for five hundred dollars."

"I wouldn't trust Scott to pick a horse for me," grunted Douglas.

"And you'd be foolish if you did," agreed Judith. "But he'll play fair enough with me."

"He will if it's to his interest to do so. If he can make anything off you by being crooked, he'll be crooked. But I suppose there's no use in me warning you. Have you got the money for the mare?"

"Only half of it. All the stock I've been able to raise and sell in the last five years amounts to about two hundred and fifty-six dollars."

"I'll lend you the rest," offered Douglas.