Judith of Blue Lake Ranch
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JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH
by
JACKSON GREGORY
Author of
The Joyous Trouble Maker, Six Feet-Four, Etc.
Illustrated by W. Herbert Dunton
[Frontispiece: Judith's spurs answered him, and the bit . . . brought
him about, whirling . . . bucking as only . . . a devil-hearted horse
knows how to buck.]
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
Copyright, 1919, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published March, 1919
Reprinted April, 1920
Copyright, 1917, 1918, by the Ridgeway Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. BUD LEE WANTS TO KNOW
II. JUDITH TAKES A HAND
III. AND RIDES AN OUTLAW
IV. JUDITH PUTS IT STRAIGHT
V. THE BIGNESS OF THE VENTURE
VI. YOUNG HAMPTON REGISTERS A PROTEST
VII. THE HAPPENING IN SQUAW CREEK CANON
VIII. RIFLE SHOTS FROM THE CLIFFS
IX. THE OLD TRAIL
X. UNDER FIRE
XI. IN THE OLD CABIN
XII. PARDNERS
XIII. THE CAPTURE OF SHORTY
XIV. SPRINGTIME AND A VISION
XV. JUST A GIRL, AFTER ALL
XVI. POKER FACE AND A WHITE PIGEON
XVII. "ONCE A FOOL--ALWAYS A FOOL"
XVIII. JUDITH TRIUMPHANT
XIX. BUD LEE SEEKS CROOKED CHRIS QUINNION
XX. THE FIGHT AT THE JAILBIRD
XXI. BURNING MEMORY
XXII. PLAYING THE GAME
XXIII. THE WRATH OF POLLOCK HAMPTON
XXIV. A SIGNAL-FIRE?
XXV. THE TOOLS WHICH TREVORS USED
XXVI. JUDITH'S PERIL
XXVII. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
XXVIII. BACON, KISSES, AND A CONFESSION
XXIX. LEE AND OLD MAN CARSON RIDE TOGETHER
XXX. THE FIGHT
XXXI. YES, JUDITH WAS WAITING
ILLUSTRATIONS
Judith's spurs answered him, and the bit . . . brought him about,
whirling . . . bucking as only . . . a devil-hearted horse knows how to
buck . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
A lean, muscular hand fell lightly upon his shoulder and he was jerked
back promptly
Quinnion was down and shooting, with but ten steps . . . between him
and the man whom he sought to kill
"You'll find your work cut out for you."
Judith of Blue Lake Ranch
I
BUD LEE WANTS TO KNOW
Bud Lee, horse foreman of the Blue Lake Ranch, sat upon the gate of the
home corral, builded a cigarette with slow brown fingers, and stared
across the broken fields of the upper valley to the rosy glow above the
pine-timbered ridge where the sun was coming up. His customary gravity
was unusually pronounced.
"If a man's got the hunch an egg is bad," he mused, "is that a real
good and sufficient reason why he should go poking his finger inside
the shell? I want to know!"
Tommy Burkitt, the youngest wage-earner of the outfit and a profound
admirer of all that taciturnity, good-humor, and quick capability which
went into the make-up of Bud Lee, approached from the ranch-house on
the knoll. "Hi, Bud!" he called. "Trevors wants you. On the jump."
Lee watched Tommy coming on with that wide, rocking gait of a man used
to much riding and little walking. The deep gravity in the foreman's
eyes was touched with a little twinkle by way of greeting.
Burkitt stopped at the gate, looking up at Lee. "On the jump, Trevors
said," he repeated.
"The hell he did," said Lee pleasantly. "How old are you this morning,
Tommy?"
Burkitt blushed. "Aw, quit it, Bud," he grinned. Involuntarily the
boy's big square hand rose to the tender growth upon lip and chin
which, like the flush in the eastern sky, was but a vague promise of a
greater glory to be.
"A hair for each year," continued the quiet-voiced man. "Ten on one
side, nine on the other."
"Ain't you going to do what Trevors says?" demanded Tommy.
For a moment Lee sat still, his cigarette unlighted, his broad black
hat far back upon his close-cropped hair, his eyes serenely
contemplative upon the pink of the sky above the pines. Then he
slipped from his place and, though each single movement gave an
impression of great leisureliness, it was but a flash of time until he
stood beside Burkitt.
"Stick around a wee bit, laddie," he said gently, a lean brown hand
resting lightly on the boy's square shoulder. "A man can't see what is
on the cards until they're tipped, but it's always a fair gamble that
between dawn and dusk I'll gather up my string of colts and crowd on.
If I do, you'll want to come along?"
He smiled at young Burkitt's eagerness and turned away toward the
ranch-house and Bayne Trevors, thus putting an early end to an
enthusiastic acquiescence. Tommy watched the tall man moving swiftly
away through the brightening dawn.
"They ain't no more men ever foaled like him," meditated Tommy, in an
approval so profound as to be little less than out-and-out devotion.
And, indeed, one might ride up and down the world for many a day and
not find a man who was Bud Lee's superior in "the things that count."
As tall as most, with sufficient shoulders, a slender body,
narrow-hipped, he carried himself as perhaps his forebears walked in a
day when open forests or sheltered caverns housed them, with a lithe
gracefulness born of the perfect play of superb physical development.
His muscles, even in the slightest movement, flowed liquidly; he had
slipped from his place on the corral gate less like a man than like
some great, splendid cat. The skin of hands, face, throat, was very
dark, whether by inheritance or because of long exposure to sun and
wind, it would have been difficult to say. The eyes were dark, very
keen, and yet reminiscently grave. From under their black brows they
had the habit of appearing to be reluctantly withdrawn from some great
distance to come to rest, steady and calm, upon the man with whom he
chanced to be speaking. Such are the serene, dispassionate eyes of one
who for many months of the year goes companionless, save for what
communion he may find in the silent passes of the mountains, in the
wide sweep of the meadow-lands or in the soul of his horse.
The gaunt, sure-footed form was lost to Tommy's eyes; Lee had passed
beyond the clump of wild lilacs whose glistening, heart-shaped leaves
screened the open court about which the ranch-house was built. A
strangely elaborate ranch-house, this one, set here so far apart from
the world of rich residences. There was a score of rooms in the great,
one-story, rambling edifice of rudely squared timbers set in
field-stone and cement, rooms now closed and locked; there were
flower-gardens still cultivated daily by Jose, the half-breed; a pretty
court with a fountain and many roses, out upon which a dozen doorways
looked; wide verandas with glimpses beyond of fireplaces and long
expanses of polished floor. For, until recently, this had been not
only the headquarters of Blue Lake Ranch, but the home as well of the
chief of its several owners. Luke Sanford, whose own efforts alone had
made him at forty-five a man to be reckoned with, had followed his
fancy here extensively and expensively, allowing himself this one
luxury of his many lean, hard years. Then, six months ago, just as his
ambitions were stepping to fresh heights, just as his hands were
filling with newer, greater endeavor, there had come the mishap in the
mountains and Sanford's tragic death.
Lee passed silently through the courtyard, by the fountain which in the
brightening air was like a chain of silver run through invisible hands,
down the veranda bathed in the perfume of full-blown roses, and so came
to the door at the far end. The door stood open; within was the office
of Bayne Trevors, general manager. Lee entered, his hat still far back
upon his head. The sound of his boots upon the bare floor caused
Trevors to look up quickly.
"Hello, Lee," he said quietly. "Wait a minute, will you?"
Quite a different type from Lee, Bayne Trevors was heavy and square and
hard. His eyes were the glinting gray eyes of a man who is forceful,
dynamic, the sort of man who is a better captain than lieutenant, whose
hands are strong to grasp life by the throat and demand that she stand
and deliver. Only because of his wide and successful experience, of
his initiative, of his way of quick, decisive action mated to a marked
executive ability, had Luke Sanford chosen Bayne Trevors as his
right-hand man in so colossal a venture as the Blue Lake Ranch. Only
because of the same pushing, vigorous personality was he this morning
general manager, with the unlimited authority of a dictator over a
petty principality.
In a moment Trevors lifted his frowning eyes from the table, turning in
his chair to confront Lee, who stood lounging in leisurely manner
against the door-jamb.
"That young idiot wants money again," he growled, his voice as sharp
and quick as his eyes. "As if I didn't have enough to contend with
already!"
"Meaning young Hampton, I take it?" said Lee quietly.
Trevors nodded savagely.
"Telegram. Caught it over the line the last thing last night. We'll
have to sell some horses this time, Lee."
Lee's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "I didn't plan to do any selling
for six months yet," he said, not in expostulation but merely in
explanation. "They're not ready."
"How many three-year-olds have you got in your string in Big Meadow?"
asked Trevors crisply.
"Counting those eleven Red Duke colts?"
"Counting everything. How many?"
"Seventy-three."
The general manager's pencil wrote upon the pad in front of him "73,"
then swiftly multiplied it by 50. Lee saw the result, 3,650 set down
with the dollar sign in front of it. He said nothing.
"What would you say to fifty dollars a head for them?" asked Trevors,
whirling again in his swivel chair. "Three thousand six fifty for the
bunch?"
"I'd say the same," answered Lee deliberately, "that I'd say to a man
that offered me two bits for Daylight or Ladybird. I just naturally
wouldn't say anything at all."
"Who are Daylight and Ladybird?" demanded Trevors.
"They're two of _my_ little horses," said Lee gently, "that no man's
got the money to buy."
Trevors smiled cynically. "What are the seventy-three colts worth
then?"
"Right now, when I'm just ready to break 'em in," said Bud Lee
thoughtfully, "the worst of that string is worth fifty dollars. I'd
say twenty of the herd ought to bring fifty dollars a head; twenty more
ought to bring sixty; ten are worth seventy-five; ten are worth an even
hundred; seven of the Red Duke stock are good for a hundred and a
quarter; the other four Red Dukes and the three Robert the Devils are
worth a hundred and fifty a head. The whole bunch, an easy fifty-seven
hundred little iron men. Which," he continued dryly, "is considerable
more than the thirty-six hundred you're talking about. And, give me
six months, and I'll boost that fifty-seven hundred. Lord, man, that
chestnut out of Black Babe by Hazard, is a real horse! Fifty
dollars----"
He stared hard at Trevors a moment. And then, partially voicing the
thought with which he had grappled upon the corral gate, he added
meditatively: "There's something almighty peculiar about an outfit
that will listen to a man offer fifty bucks on a string like that."
His eyes, cool and steady, met Trevors's in a long look which was
little short of a challenge.
"Just how far does that go, Lee?" asked the manager curtly.
"As far as you like," replied the horse foreman coolly. "Are you going
to sell those three-year-olds for thirty-six hundred?"
"Yes," answered Trevors bluntly, "I am. What are you going to do about
it?"
"Ask for my time, I guess," and although his voice was gentle and even
pleasant, his eyes were hard. "I'll take my own little string and move
on.
"Curse it!" cried Trevors heatedly. "What difference does it make to
you? What business is it of yours how I sell? You draw down your
monthly pay, don't you? I raised you a notch last month without your
asking for it, didn't I?"
"That's so," agreed the foreman equably. "It's a cinch none of the
boys have any kick coming at the wages."
For a moment Trevors sat frowning up at Lee's inscrutable face. Then
he laughed shortly. "Look here, Bud," he said good-humoredly, an
obvious seriousness of purpose under the light tone. "I want to talk
with you before you do anything rash. Sit down." But Lee remained
standing, merely saying, "Shoot."
"I wonder," explained Trevors, "if the boys understand just the size of
the job I've got in my hands? You know that the ranch is a
million-dollar outfit; you know that you can ride fifteen miles without
getting off the home-range; you know that we are doing a dozen
different kinds of farming and stock-raising. But you don't know just
how short the money is! There's that young idiot now, Hampton. He
holds a third interest and I've got to consider what he says, even if
he is a weak-minded, inbred pup that can't do anything but spend an
inheritance like the born fool he is. His share is mortgaged; I've
tried to pay the mortgage off. I've got to keep the interest up.
Interest alone amounts, to three thousand dollars a year. Think of
that! Then there's Luke Sanford dead and his one-third interest left
to another young fool, a girl!"
Trevors's fist came smashing down upon his table. "A girl!" he
repeated savagely. "Worse than young Hampton, by Heaven! Every two
weeks she's writing for a report, eternally butting in, making
suggestions, hampering me until I'm sick of the job."
"That would be Luke's girl, Judith?"
"Yes. Two of the three owners' kids, writing me at every turn. And
the third owner, Timothy Gray, the only sensible one of the lot, has
just up and sold out his share, and I suppose I'll be hearing next that
some superannuated female in an old lady's home has inherited a fortune
and bought him out. Why, do you think I'd hold on to my job here for
ten minutes if it wasn't that my reputation is in making a go of the
thing? And now you, the best man I've got, throw me down!"
"I don't see," said Lee slowly, after a brief pause, "just what good it
does to sell a string of real horses like they were sheep. Half of
that herd is real horse-flesh, I tell you."
"Hampton wants money. And besides, a horse is a horse."
"Is it?" A hard smile touched Lee's lips. "That's just where a man
makes a mistake. Some horses are cows, some are clean spirit. You can
stake your boots on that, Trevors."
"Well," snapped Trevors, "suppose you are right. I've got to raise
three thousand dollars in a hurry. Where will I get it?"
"Who is offering fifty dollars a head for those horses?" asked Lee
abruptly. "It might be the Big Western Lumber Company?"
"Yes."
"Uh-huh. Well, you can kill the rats in your own barn, Trevors. I'll
go look for a job somewhere else."
Bayne Trevors, his lips tightly compressed, his eyes steady, a faint,
angry flush in his cheeks, checked what words were flowing to his
tongue and looked keenly at his foreman. Lee met his regard with cool
unconcern. Then, just as Trevors was about to speak, there came an
interruption.
II
JUDITH TAKES A HAND
The quiet of the morning was broken by the quick thud of a horse's shod
hoofs on the hard ground of the courtyard. Bud Lee in the doorway
turned to see a strange horse drawn up so that upon its four bunched
hoofs it slid to a standstill; saw a slender figure, which in the early
light he mistook for a boy, slip out of the saddle. And then,
suddenly, a girl, the spurs of her little riding-boots making jingling
music on the veranda, her riding-quirt swinging from her wrist, had
stepped by him and was looking with bright, snapping eyes from him to
Trevors.
"I am Judith Sanford," she announced briefly, and there was a note in
her young voice which went ringing, bell-like, through the still air.
"Is one of you men Bayne Trevors?"
A quick, shadowy smile came and went upon the lips of Bud Lee. It
struck him that she might have said in just that way: "I am the Queen
of England and I am running my own kingdom!" He looked at her with
eyes filled with open interest and curiosity, making swift appraisal of
the flush in the sun-browned cheeks, the confusion of dark, curling
hair disturbed by her furious riding, the vivid, red-blooded beauty of
her. Mouth and eyes and the very carriage of the dark head upon her
superb white throat announced boldly and triumphantly that here was no
wax-petalled lily of a lady but rather a maid whose blood, like the
blood of the father before her, was turbulent and hot and must boil
like a wild mountain-stream at opposition. Her eyes, a little darker
than Trevors's, were the eyes of fighting stock.
Trevors, irritated already, turned hard eyes up at her from under
corrugated brows. He did not move in his chair. Nor did Lee stir
except that now he removed his hat.
"I am Trevors," said the general manager curtly. "And, whether you are
Judith Sanford or the Queen of Siam, I am busy right now."
"He got the queen idea, too!" was the quick thought back of Bud Lee's
fading smile.
"You talk soft with me, Trevors!" cried the girl passionately, "if you
want to hold your job five minutes! I'll tolerate none of your high
and mighty airs!"
Trevors laughed at her, a sneer in his laugh. "I talk the way I talk,"
he answered roughly. "If people don't like the sound of it they don't
have to listen! Lee, you round up those seventy-three horses and crowd
them over the ridge to the lumber-camp. Or, if you want to quit, quit
now and I'll send a sane man."
The hot color mounted higher in the girl's face, a new anger leaped up
in her eyes.
"Take no orders this morning that I don't give," she said, for a moment
turning her eyes upon Lee. And to Trevors: "Busy or not busy, you take
time right now to answer my questions. I've got your reports and all
they tell me is that you are going in the hole as fast as you can. You
are spending thousands of dollars needlessly. What business have you
got selling off my young steers at a sacrifice? What in the name of
folly did you build those three miles of fence for?"
"Go get those horses, Lee," said Trevors, ignoring her.
Again she spoke to Lee, saying crisply: "What horses is he talking
about?"
With his deep gravity at its deepest, Bud Lee answered: "All L-S stock.
The eleven Red Duke three-year-olds; the two Robert the Devil colts;
Brown Babe's filly, Comet----"
"All mine, every running hoof of 'em," she said, cutting in. "What
does Trevors want you to do with them? Give them away for ten dollars
a head or cut their throats?"
"Look here--" cried Trevors angrily, on his feet now.
"You shut up!" commanded the girl sharply. "Lee, you answer me."
"He's selling them fifty dollars a head," he said with a secret joy in
his heart as he glanced at Trevors's flushed face.
"Fifty dollars!" Judith gasped. "Fifty dollars for a Red Duke colt
like Comet!"
She stared at Lee as though she could not believe it. He merely stared
back at her, wondering just how much she knew about horse-flesh.
Then, suddenly, she whirled again upon Trevors.
"I came out to see if you were a crook or just a fool," she told him,
her words like a slap in his face. "No man could be so big a fool as
that! You--you crook!"
The muscles under Bayne Trevors's jaws corded. "You've said about
enough," he shot back at her. "And even if you do own a third of this
outfit, I'll have you understand that I am the manager here and that I
do what I like."
From her bosom she snatched a big envelope, tossing it to the table.
"Look at that," she ordered him. "You big thief! I've mortgaged my
holding for fifty thousand dollars and I've bought in Timothy Gray's
share. I swing two votes out of three now, Bayne Trevors. And the
first thing I do is run you out, you great big grafting fathead! You
_would_ chuck Luke Sanford's outfit to the dogs, would you? Get off
the ranch. You're fired!"
"You can't do a thing like this!" snapped Trevors, after one swift
glance at the papers he had whisked out of their covering.
"I can't, can't I?" she jeered at him. "Don't you fool yourself for
one little minute! Pack your little trunk and hammer the trail."
"I'll do nothing of the kind. Why, I don't know even who you are! You
say that you are Judith Sanford." He shrugged his massive shoulders.
"How do I know what game you are up to? Wayward maidens," and in his
rage he sneered at her evilly, "have been known before to lie like
other people!"
"You can't bluff me for two seconds, Bayne Trevors," she blazed at him.
"You know who I am, all right. Send for Sunny Harper," she ended
sharply.
"Discharged three months ago," Trevors told her with a show of teeth.
"Johnny Hodge, then," she commanded. "Or Tod Bruce or Bing Kelley.
They all know me."
"Fired long ago, all of them," laughed Trevors, "to make room for
competent men."
"To make room for more crooks!" she cried, her own brown hands balled
into fists scarcely less hard than Trevors's had been. Then for the
third time she turned upon Lee. "You are one of his new thieves, I
suppose?"
"Thank you, ma'am," said Bud Lee gravely.
"Well, answer me. Are you?"
"No, ma'am," he told her, with no hint of a twinkle in his calm eyes.
"Leastwise, not his exactly. You see, I do all my killing and highway
robbing on my own hook. It's just a way I have."
"Well," Judith sniffed, "I don't know. It will be a jolt to me if
there's a square man left on the ranch! Go down to the bunk-house and
tell the cook I'm here and I'm hungry as a wild-cat. Tell him and any
of the boys that are down there that I've come to stay and that Trevors
is fired. They take orders from me and no one else. And hurry, if you
know how. Goodness knows, you look as though it would take you half an
hour to turn around!"
"Thank you, ma'am," said Bud Lee. "But you see I had just told Trevors
here he could count me out. I'm not working for the Blue Lake any
more. As I go down to the corral, shall I send up one of the boys to
take your orders?"
There was a little smile under the last words, just as there was a
little smile in Bud Lee's heart at the thought of the boys taking
orders from a little slip of a girl. Inside he was chuckling, vastly
delighted with the comedy of the morning.
"She's a sure-enough little wonder-bird, all right," he mused. "But,
say, what does she want to butt in on a man's-size job for, I want to
know?"
"Lee," called Trevors, "you take orders from me or no one on this
ranch. You can go now. And just keep your mouth shut."
Bud Lee stood there in the doorway, his hat spinning upon a brown
forefinger, his thoughts his own. He was turning to go out and down to
his horse when he saw the look in Trevors's eyes, a look of consuming
rage. The general manager's voice had been hoarse.
"I guess," said Lee quietly, "that I'll stick around until you two get
through quarrelling. I might come in handy somehow."
"Damn you," shouted Trevors, "get out!"
"Cut out the swear-words, Trevors," said Lee with quiet sternness.
"There's a lady here."
"Lady!" scoffed Trevors. He laughed contemptuously. "Where's your
lady? That?" and he levelled a scornful finger at the girl. "A
ranting tough of a female who brings a breath of the stables with her
and scolds like a fishwife. . . ."
"Shut up!" said Lee, crossing the room with quick strides, his face
thrust forward a little.
"You shut up!" It was Judith's voice as Judith's hand fell upon Bud
Lee's shoulder, pushing him aside. "If I couldn't take care of myself
do you think I'd be fool enough to take over a job like running the
Blue Lake? Now--" and with blazing eyes she confronted Trevors--"if
you've got any more nice little things to say, suppose you say them to
me!"
Trevors's temper had had ample provocation and now stood naked and hot
in his hard eyes. In a blind instant he laid his tongue to a word
which would have sent Bud Lee at his throat. But Judith stood between
them and, like an echo to the word, came the resounding slap as
Judith's open palm smote Trevors's cheek.
"You wildcat!" he cried. And his two big hands flew out, seeking her
shoulders.
"Stand back!" called Judith. "Just because you are bigger than I am,
don't make any mistake! Stand back, I tell you!"
Bud Lee marvelled at the swiftness with which her hand had gone into
her blouse and out again, a small-caliber revolver in the steady
fingers now. He had never known a man--himself possibly
excepted--quicker at the draw.
But Bayne Trevors, from whose make-up cowardice had been omitted,
laughed sneeringly at her and did not stand back. His two hands out
before him, his face crimson, he came on.
"Fool!" cried the girl. "Fool!"
Still he came on. Lee gathered himself to spring.
Judith fired. Once, and Trevors's right arm fell to his side. A
second time, and Trevors's left arm hung limp like the other. The
crimson was gone from his face now. It was dead white. Little beads
of sweat began to form on his brow.
Lee turned astonished eyes to Judith.