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If only there were some woman to whom he might go for advice. Grandma Brown? No; he had talked to her once and she had failed him. Charleton's wife had failed with her own daughter. There remained Inez Rodman, who knew Judith better than any one else knew her. Inez! Doug's mind dwelt long on this name.
The two were still staring at each other when Peter returned. Doug's wound healed quickly and with no complications. He remained with Peter for a week or so, then returned to his home. Scott Parsons began preparations at once for carrying out Doug's sentence and for a time the post-office and the west trail to Inez' place saw him most infrequently.
On the road over, Billy Little asked Dr. Kennedy to lead his horse while he talked to Patsy Clark, who was driving in the wagon. "How did Dic happen to shoot him?" asked Billy when he was seated beside Patsy. "D-Dic d-di-didn't shoot him. Ri-ta did," stuttered Doug's henchman. "No, Patsy, it was Dic," said Billy Little. "I-I re-reckon I or-orter know," stammered Patsy. "I-I was there and s-saw it.
He strode out to Buster and galloped home. It was extremely difficult to find a moment alone with Judith in the two-room cabin; but the chores were late that night and Judith, instead of helping her mother with the supper preparations, went out to milk, and so Doug's second interview that evening was in the cow shed, for when he reached the home corral, Judith had not finished her task.
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!"
The situation was a trying one for Dic. He could not fight the ruffian in Rita's presence, and he had no right to tell him to move on. So he paid no attention to Doug's hail, and in a moment that worthy Nimrod passed up the river. Dic and Rita were greatly frightened, and when Doug passed out of sight into the forest they started home.
Then come back here." Judith, her eyes wide and brilliant, her cheeks feverish, obeyed without a word. She drew off Doug's short leather rider's coat and cut off his blood-saturated shirt and undershirt. Douglas watched her with beads of sweat on his lips.
He looked at Peter. Judith was staring thoughtfully at the stove and the postmaster's deep eyes were fastened on the girl's fine, clean-cut features, with a burning fire that suddenly brought Doug's heart to his throat. "What's your opinion of Scott, Judith?" asked Peter. "The same as Inez'. But I can't help liking him.
This wonderment was solved the day after Doug's and Jude's conversation on the load of hay and in a manner destined in a small way to have its influence on Douglas' affairs in the years to come. Just before supper Judith returned from the post-office and rushed into the kitchen with a huge, long-legged, ugly puppy in her arms.
Beating about the woods, Bret Harte in hand, he had managed to discover an old woodsman who still held to the ancient industries of his youth. The trapper's specialty was "bob cats," and the bleeding hands and torn clothes came from "Doug's" earnest efforts to handle the "varmints" just as his venerable preceptor handled them.
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