“Well, how air we goin’ to be sure that gal’s over there?” inquired Andy, still half reluctant.
“Oh, she’s there,” returned Judith heavily; and when the boys regarded her with startled looks, “I ain’t seen her, but she’s been on the mountain since Thursday. She’s been slippin’ over to visit—her—Creed named it to me then.”
“Well that does settle it,” Andy concluded. “Reckon Blatch has shut her up for pure meanness. When was we to go? Was there any time sot?”
“To-night,” Jeff informed them. “Any time after ten o’clock’ll do—that was the word I got.”
“Well, that’ll be all right,” agreed Andy; “I can fix Creed up for the night, and ef we git Huldy away in the dark nobody need know of the business—not even Bonbright.”
A slow flush rose in Judith’s pale cheeks. But she offered no comment on this aspect of the case. She only said:
“Just do what you think best, and don’t name it to me again, please.” Then, as both boys looked wonderingly at her, she added haltingly, “I’ve got enough to werry over—with a sick man here on my hands, an’ Uncle Jep gone.”
She went to her room. When at midnight she slipped down as of custom to see how all fared in the sick-room, she found the patient sleeping quietly, and Andy ready for the trip across the Gulch. The boys were going unarmed; they felt no fear of treachery on Blatch’s part—it could profit him nothing to injure either of them in so public a way, and indeed he had never shown them any ill-will.