Part 22 (1/2)
”I would come, Judith, becaze I love you an' you love me--but Creed, he won't,” said the boy.
”You tell him Little Buck,” she whispered huskily, terror and shame warring in her face, ”tell him that I do love him. Tell him I said for G.o.d's sake to come--if he loves me.”
The child's eyes slowly filled. He dropped them and stood staring at the ground, saying nothing because of the blur. Finally:
”I'll tell him that--ef you say I must,” he whispered. And loving, tender Judith, in her desperate preoccupation, never noted what she had done to her little sweetheart.
Chapter XVII
The Old Cherokee Trail
”The supper's all ready for you boys,” Judith called in to Wade whose whistle sounded from his own room. ”Hit's a settin', kivered, on the hearth; the coffee-pot's on the coals. Would you-all mind to wait on yo'selves, an' would you put the saddle on Selim for me? I'm goin' over to Lusks'. I'll eat supper there; I may stay all night; but I'll be home in the mornin' soon to git you-all's breakfast.”
”Why--why, pap 'lowed----”
”Well, Uncle Jep ain't here. Ef you don't want to----”
”Oh, that's all right Judith. Of course it's all right. But you say you're goin' to ride to Lusks'?--to ride?” hesitated Wade uneasily.
Judith flung up her head and stared straight at him with angry eyes.
”Yes,” she said finally, ”when I leave this place for over night I'd ruther know whar my hoss is at. I'll take him along.”
”Oh,--all right,” her cousin hastened to agree; ”I never meant to make you mad, Jude. Of course I'd jest as soon saddle up for you. I don't wonder you feel thataway. I never like to have anybody use my ridin'
critter.”
Judith had made her point. She let it pa.s.s, and went sombrely on with her preparation for departure. Wade still hesitated uneasily. Finally he said deprecatingly,
”Ef ye don't mind waitin' a minute I'll eat my supper, an' ride over with ye--I was a-goin' after supper anyhow; I want to see Lacey Rountree ef he's not gone back home yit.”
”I'll be glad to have ye,” answered Judith quietly. ”I don't mind waitin'.” And Wade, plainly relieved, hurried out to the stables.
They rode along quietly in the late summer afternoon; the taciturn habit of the mountain people made the silence between them seem nothing strange. Arrived at the Lusks', both girls came running out to welcome their visitor. She saw Wade's sidelong glance take note of the fact that Grandpap Lusk led away Selim to the log stable. Lacey Rountree was gone home to the Far Cove, and Wade lingered in talk with Grandpap Lusk a while at the horse-block, then got on his mule and, with florid good-byes, rode back home, evidently at rest as to Judith.
The evening meal was over. Judith helped Cliantha and Pendrilla prepare a bit of supper for herself, aided in the clearing away and dish-was.h.i.+ng, and after they had sat for a while with Granny Lusk and the old man in the porch, listening to the whippoorwills calling to each other, and all the iterant insect voices of a July night, went to their own room.
”Girls,” said Judith softly, drawing the two colourless little creatures to the bed, and sitting down with one on each side of her, ”girls,” and her voice deepened and shook with the strain under which she laboured, ”I want you to let me slip out the back door here, put my saddle on Selim, and go home, quiet, without tellin' the old folks. I was goin' home by daylight in the mornin' anyhow, to get the boys' breakfast,” as the girls stared at her in wordless surprise. ”I've got a reason why I'd ruther go now--and I'd ruther the old folks didn't know. Will ye do this for me?”
The sisters looked at each other across their guest's dark eager face, and fluttered visibly. They would have been incapable of deceit to serve any purpose of their own; they were too timid to have initiated any actions not in strict accordance with household laws; but the same gentle timidity which made them subservient to the rules of their world, made them also abject wors.h.i.+ppers at the shrine of Judith's beauty and force and fire.
”Sh.o.r.e, sh.o.r.e,” they both whispered in a breath.
”I hate to have ye go Jude--” began Cliantha; but Pendrilla interrupted her.
”An' yit ef Jude would ruther go--and wants to slip out unbeknownst, why we wouldn't say nothin' about it, and jest tell granny and grandpap in the mornin' that she left soon to git the boys' breakfast.”
They watched her pa.s.s quietly out the back door and toward the log stable, their big blue eyes wide with childish wonder and interest.
Judith with her many suitors, moving in an atmosphere of romance, was to them a figure like none other, and she was now in the midst of tragic doings; the glamour that had always been upon her image was heightened by the last week's occurrences. They turned back whispering and shut the door.