XI
IN THE OLD CABIN
Bud Lee, in the thicker darkness lying along the edge of the plateau,sat with his back against the rocks while he gave swift first aid tohis wound. He brought into requisition the knotted handkerchief fromabout his throat, bound it tightly around the calf of his leg, and saidlightly to Judith:
"Just a fool scratch, you know. But I've no hankering to dribble out alot of blood from it."
Judith made no answer. Lee took up his rifle and turned to the spotwhere she had been standing a moment ago. She was not there.
"Gone!" he grunted, frowning into the blackness hemming him in. "Now,what do you suppose she's up to? Fainted, most likely."
He got up and moved along the low rock wall, seeking her. A spurt offlame from the east corner of the cabin drew his eyes away from hissearch and he pumped three quick shots in answer.
"Little chance of hitting anything," he muttered. "Too blamed dark.Just fool's luck that I got mine in the leg."
Again he sought Judith, calling softly. There was no answer. Oncemore came the spurt of flame from the shelter of the cabin wall. Thenfifty yards off to Lee's right, some fifty yards nearer the cabin,another shot.
The first suspicion that one of the men from the cliffs had made hisway down to join issue at close quarters, was gone in a clearunderstanding. That was the bark of Judith's rifle; she had slippedaway from him without an instant's delay and was creeping closer andcloser to the cabin.
"Damn the girl!" cried Lee angrily. "She'll get her fool self killed!"
But as he ran forward to join her, he realized that she was doing theright thing--the only thing if they did not want to lie out here allnight for the men on the cliffs to pick off in the morning light. Heknew that she could shoot; it seemed that she could do everything thatwas a man's work and which a woman should know nothing about.
A fresh thought locked his hand like steel about his gun-stock.Suppose that Judith, in the mad thing she was attempting, shouldactually succeed in it, that she should bring down the man she wasattacking? How would Bud Lee feel about it when the boys came to know?What would Bud Lee answer when they asked what he was doing about thattime? "Nursin' a scratched leg? Mos' likely! Huh!" He could hearold Carson's dry cackle.
Frowning into the night, he thought that he could make out the dim blurof Judith's form. The girl was standing erect; shooting, too, foragain the duel of red spurts of flame told where she and her quarrystood.
Meantime Lee ran on, changing his original purpose, swerving out fromwhere Judith was moving forward, turning to the left, hopeful to cometo close quarters with their assailant before she could go down underthat sharp rifle-fire or could bring down the other. For certainly, ifshe kept on that way, the time would come when some one would stop hotlead.
Lee shifted his rifle to his left hand, taking his revolver into hisright. From the cliffs came a shot and he grunted at itcontemptuously. It could do nothing but assure those below that therewas still some one up there.
"Three of them to our two," he estimated, "counting the two jaspers onthe cliff. Two of us to their one, counting what's down here. Andthat's all that counts right this minute."
A shot from Judith; a shot from the cabin; two shots from the cliffs.The two shots from above brought fresh news; not only were they closertogether, but they indicated the men up yonder were coming down. Leehurried.
Then, at last, his narrowed eyes made out the faint outline of thatwhich he sought. Close to the cabin, low down, evidently upon hisknees, was the most important factor to be considered, now. Still Leewas too far away to be certain of a hit and he meant with all of thegrim determination in him to hit something at last. He ran on drawingthe fire away from Judith. A rifle-ball sang close to his side,another and an other. He lost the dim shape of the kneeling man, who,he thought, had risen from his knees and was standing, his bodytight-pressed to the cabin.
"Why the devil doesn't he run for it?" wondered Lee.
But evidently, be the reason what it might, the man had no intention ofrunning. A bullet cut through Lee's sleeve. At last Lee answered. Heran in closer as he fired and, running, emptied his revolver, jammed itinto his waistband, clubbed his rifle . . . and realized with somethingof a shock that there were but the two rifles on the cliffs to takeinto consideration. That other rifle, at the cabin, was still. Out ofammunition? Or plugged? Or playing 'possum? Which?
"Stop shooting!" he shouted to Judith.
"I'm coming!" she cried back to him.
Almost at the same instant, their two rifles ready, they came to thecabin. Between them on the ground a man lay at the corner, movinghelplessly, groping for his fallen gun, falling back.
"Open the door," said Bud. "I'll get him inside and we'll see who heis. Hurry, Judith; those other jaspers are working down this way asfast as they know how."
Judith, taking time to snatch up the fallen rifle, ran around to thedoor. Lee slipped his hands under the armpits of the wounded man anddragged him in Judith's wake. In the cabin, the door shut, Lee strucka match and went to a little shelf where there was a candle.
"Bill Crowdy!" gasped Judith.
Almost before Lee saw the man's face he saw the canvas bag tied to hisbelt, a bag identical with the one he himself had brought from the bankat Rocky Bend.
"The man that stuck up Charlie Miller," he said slowly. "And there'syour thousand bucks, or I'm a liar. I get something of their play now:those two fellows up there were waiting to meet him and split the swagthree ways. And I've got the guess they'll be asking a look-in yet!"
He dropped a heavy bar into its place across the door and then went tothe two small windows and fastened the heavy oaken shutters. When hecame back to Judith she was bending over the wounded man. Crowdy'seyes were closed; he looked to be on the verge of death. The girl'sface was almost as white as Crowdy's.
Lee knelt and with quick fingers sought the wound. There was a hole inCrowdy's chest, high up near the throat, that was bleeding profusely.At first that seemed the only wound. But in a second Lee had foundanother. This was in the leg, and this, like Lee's, was bound tightlywith a handkerchief.
"Got that, first rattle out of the box!" commented Lee. "See it?That's why he stuck on the job and didn't try to run for it. Lookslike a rifle-ball had smashed the bone."
He didn't look up. His fingers, busy with the string at Crowdy's belt,brought away the canvas bag. There was blood on it; it was heavy andgave forth the mellow jangle of gold.
"You win back your thousand on to-night's play," he said, holding upthe bag to Judith, lifting his eyes to her face.
But Judith shrank back, her eyes wide with horror.
"I don't want it! I can never touch it!" she whispered.
Suddenly she was shaking from head to foot, her eyes fixed in terriblefascination upon Crowdy's face. Lee tossed the bag to the bunk acrossthe room, whence it fell clanking to the floor.
"Now she's going to faint," was his thought. "Well, I won't blame herso damn much. Poor little kid!"
But he did not look at her again. He tore away Crowdy's shirt todiscover just how serious the wound in the chest was. The collar-bonehad been broken; the ball had ploughed its way through the upper chest,well above the heart, and could be felt under the skin of the shoulder.Unless Bill Crowdy bled to death, he stood an excellent chance of doingtime in the penitentiary. Lee stanched the flow of blood, made a rudebandage, and then, lifting the body gently, carried it to the bunk.Crowdy's lax arm, extended downward at the side of the bunk, seemed tobe reaching again for the canvas bag; the red fingers touched it withtheir tips.
"Now," said Lee, speaking bluntly, afraid that a tone of sympathy mightmerely aid the girl to "shake to pieces," "we've got a chance to be onour way before Number Two and Number Three get into the game. Let'srun for it, Judith."
Judith went to the bench by the fireplace and sank down upon it. For amoment she made no reply. Then she shook her head.
"What for?" he wanted to know. "We'll have another fight on our handsif we do. Those fellows, this deep in it, are not going to quit whilethey know that there's all that money in the shack!"
"I don't care," said Judith firmly. "I won't run from them or anybodyelse I know! And, besides, Bud Lee, I am not going to give them thechance to get Crowdy away. . . . Do you think he is going to die?"
"No, I don't. Doc Tripp will fix him up."
"Then here I stay, for one. When I go, Bill Crowdy goes with me! He'sgoing to talk, and he's going to help me send Bayne Trevors to the pen."
Bud Lee expressed all he had to say in a silent whistle. He'd madeanother mistake, that was all. Judith wasn't going to faint for himto-night.
"Then," he said presently, setting her the example, "slip some freshcartridges into your rifle and get ready for more shooting. I'll putout the light and we'll wait for what's next."
Judith replenished the magazine of her rifle. Lee, watching from underthe low-drawn brim of his hat, noted that her fingers were steady now.Crowdy moved on his bunk, lifted a hand weakly, groaned, and grewstill. Presently he stirred again, asking weakly for water.
Lee went to the water-bucket standing in a corner. It happened to behalf full. He filled a cup, and lifting Crowdy's head, held it to thefevered lips.
"Not exactly what you'd call fresh, is it, Crowdy?" he said lightly."But the spring's outside and I'm scared to go out in the dark."
Crowdy drank thirstily and lay back, his eyes closed again. Leerearranged his bandage.
"Put out the light now?" he asked Judith.
"No," she answered. "What's the use, Bud? There are no holes in thewalls they could stick a gun-barrel through, are there?"
No one knew better than he that there were not.
"You see," said Judith, with a half-smile, heroically assumed, "I'm alittle afraid of the dark, too! Anyway, since we've got to spend thenight with a man in Crowdy's shape, it will be more cosey, won't it,with the light on?"
She even put out her hand to one of the books on the shelves which shecould reach from her bench.
"And now," she added, "I'm sure that our hermit won't mind if we peepinto his library, will he?"
"No," answered Lee gravely. "Most likely he'll be proud."
Lee found time to muse that life is made of incongruities, woman ofinconsistencies. Here with a badly hurt man lying ten feet from her,with every likelihood of the night stillness being ripped in two by arifle-shot, Judith sat and turned the pages of a book. It was a volumeon the breeding and care of pure-blooded horses. Odd sort of thing forher hermit to have brought here with him! Her hand took down anothervolume. Horses again; a treatise by an eminent authority upon a newlyimported line from Arabia. A third book; this, a volume of Elizabethanlyrics. Bud Lee flushed as he watched her. She turned the pagesslowly, came back to the fly-leaf page, read the name scrawled thereand, turning swiftly to Lee, said accusingly:
"David Burrill Lee, you are a humbug!"
"Wrong again," grinned Lee. "A hermit, you mean! 'A man with a soul.'. . ."
"Scat!" answered Judith. But, under Bud Lee's teasing eyes, the colorbegan to come back into her cheeks. She _had_ been a wee bitenthusiastic over her hermit, making of him a picturesque ideal. Shehad visioned him, even to the calm eyes, gentle voice. A quick littlefrown touched her brows as she realized that the eyes and voice whichher fancy had bestowed upon the hermit were in actuality the eyes andvoice of Bud Lee. But she had called him a dear. And Lee had beenlaughing at her all the time--had not told her, would never have toldher. The thought came to her that she would like to slap Bud Lee'sface for him. And she had told Tripp she would like to slap PollockHampton's. Good and hard!
Judith of Blue Lake Ranch Page 11
