Judith of the Godless Valley

Honoré Morrow

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• Publié par: otta
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 49
• Langue: English

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Project Gutenberg's Judith of the Godless Valley,
by Honoré Willsie
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Title: Judith of the Godless Valley
Author: Honoré Willsie
Release Date: December 12, 2004 [EBook #14331]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK JUDITH OF THE GODLESS VALLEY ***
Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.JUDITH OF THE
GODLESS VALLEY
BY HONORÉ WILLSIE
Author of "The Enchanted Canyon," "The
Forbidden Trail,"
"Still Jim," "The Heart of the Desert," etc.
1922CONTENTS
I LOST CHIEF SCHOOLHOUSE II OSCAR
JEFFERSON III THE GRADUATION DANCE IV
THE HOUSE IN THE YELLOW CANYON V THE
HUNT ON LOST CHIEF VI LITTLE SWIFT
CROSSES THE DIVIDE VII THE POST-OFFICE
CONFERENCE VIII JUDITH AT THE RODEO IX
THE TRIP TO MOUNTAIN CITY X WILD HORSES
XI THE LOG CHAPEL XII THE FIRST SERMON
XIII PRINCE GOES MARCHING ON XIV THE
BATTLE OF THE BULLS XV THE FLAME IN THE
VALLEY XVI THE TRAIL OVER THE PASS XVII
BLACK DEVIL PASS XVIII ELIJAH NELSON'S
RANCH XIX HOMEJUDITH OF THE GODLESS
VALLEYCHAPTER I
LOST CHIEF SCHOOLHOUSE
"To believe in a living God; to preach His Holy Writ
without fear or favor; to sacrifice self that others
may find eternal life; this is true happiness."
—The Rev. James Fowler.
It was Sunday in Lost Chief; Sunday and mid-
winter. For the first time in nearly ten years there
was to be a sermon preached in the valley and
every one who could move was making his way to
the schoolhouse.
Douglas Spencer drove his spurs into Buster and
finished the last hundred yards at a gallop. Judith,
his foster sister, stood up in her stirrups, lashed
Swift vigorously over the flanks with the knotted
reins and when Buster slid on his haunches to the
very doorstep, Swift brought her gnarled fore legs
down on his sweeping tail and slid with him. She
brought up when he did with her nose under his
saddle blanket. The boy and girl avoided a mix-up
by leaping from their saddles and jerking their
mounts apart.
"Now look at here, Jude!" shouted Douglas, "you
keep that ornery cow-pony of yours off of me or I'll
make you sorry for it!"Judith put her thumb to her small red nose, and
without touching the stirrups leaped back into the
saddle. Then she looked calmly about her.
"First ones here!" she said complacently. "Even the
preacher hasn't come."
"I suppose,"—Doug's voice was bitter—"that if I
rode over toward Day's to meet Jimmy you'd have
to tag!"
"I sure-gawd would. Swift would like the extra
exercise."
Douglas swept Judith's thin bay mare with a
withering glance. "That thing! Looks like the
coyotes had been at it!"
Judith wore but one spur and this had a broken
rowell, but she kicked
Swift with it and Swift whirled against the nervous
Buster and bit him on
the cheek. Buster reared. "Take that back, you
dogy cowboy you!" shrieked
Judith.
Douglas brought Buster round and raised his hand
to strike the girl. She eyed him fearlessly. The boy
slowly lowered the threatening hand and returned
her gaze, belligerently.
Prince, a gray, short-haired dog, of intricate
ancestry, squatted on his haunches in the snow
with his tongue between his teeth and his eyes onthe two horses. Swift sagged with a sigh onto three
legs. Perhaps the little mare deserved some of the
aspersions Douglas and his father daily cast upon
her. She was a half-broken, half-fed little mare
which Douglas' father had cast off. She did not look
strong enough to bear even Judith's slim weight.
But as the only horse Judith was permitted to call
her own, the little bay was the very apple of the
young girl's eyes, and she wheedled wonderful
performances from Swift in endurance and cat-like
quickness.
Buster was a black which the older Spencer had
bred as a cow-pony but had given up because he
could not be broken of bucking. Doug had begged
his father for the horse, and Buster, nervous,
irritable and speedy, was a joy to the boy's sixteen-
year-old heart.
Douglas sat tall in the saddle. He measured, in
fact, a full five feet ten inches without his high-
heeled riding-boots. He was so thin that his leather
rider's coat bellowed in the wind, and the modeling
of his cheekbones showed markedly under his
tanned skin. His sombrero, pushed back from his
forehead, disclosed a thick thatch of bright yellow
hair above wide blue eyes that were set deep and
far apart. His nose was high bridged, and his
mouth, though still immature, gave promise of full-
lipped strength in its curves.
Judith was fourteen and only a couple of inches
shorter than Douglas. She was even thinner than
he, but, like him, glowing with intense vitality. Shehad hung her cap on the pommel of her saddle and
her curly black hair whipped across her face. She
had a short nose, a large mouth, magnificent gray
eyes and cheeks of flawless carmine. She wore a
faded plaid mackinaw, and arctics half-way up her
long, thin legs.
"I hate you, Doug Spencer," she said finally and
fiercely, "and I'm glad you're not my real brother!"
"I don't see why my father ever married a woman
with an ornery brat like you!" retorted Douglas.
"I wouldn't stay to associate with you another
minute if you offered me a new pair of spurs! I'm
going to meet Maud!" And Judith disappeared
down the trail.
Douglas eased back in his saddle and lighted a
cigarette, while he watched the distant figures
approaching across the valley. The glory of the
landscape made little impression on him. He had
been born in Lost Chief and he saw only snow and
his schoolmates racing over the converging trails.
The Rockies in mid-winter! High northern cattle
country with purple sage deep blanketed in snow,
with rarefied air below the zero mark, with sky the
purest, most crystalline deep sapphire, and Lost
Chief Valley, high perched in the ranges, silently
awaiting the return of spring.
Fire Mesa, huge, profoundly striated, with red
clouds forever forming on its top and rolling over
remoter mesas, stood with its greatest lengthacross the north end of the valley. At its feet lay
Black Gorge, and half-way up its steep red front
projected the wide ledge on which the schoolhouse
stood. Dead Line Peak and Falkner's Peak abruptly
closed the south end of the valley. From between
these two great mountains, Lost Chief Creek swept
down across the valley into the Black Gorge. Lost
Chief Range formed the west boundary of the
valley, Indian Range, the east. They were perhaps
ten miles apart.
All this gives little of the picture Douglas might have
been absorbing.
It tells nothing of the azure hue of the snow that
buried Lost Chief
Creek and Lost Chief ranches. It gives no hint of
the awful splendor of
Dead Line and Falkner's Peaks, all blue and bronze
and crimson, backed by
myriads of other peaks, pure white, against the
perfect sky.
It does not picture the brilliant yellow canyon wall
which thrust Lost Chief Range back from the
valley, nor the peacock blue sides of the Indian
Range, clothed in wonder by the Forest Reserve.
And finally, it does not tell of the infinite silence that
lay this prismatic Sunday afternoon over the snow-
cloaked world.
Douglas did not see the beauty of the valley, but
as, far below, he saw Judith trot up to the Day's
corral, he was smitten suddenly by his sense of
loneliness. Too bad of Jude, he thought, always to