The journey to Foeman’s Bluff, following the flicker of the lantern in Wade’s hand, with the voices of the men coming back to her, hoarse, fragmentary, ejaculatory, reciting Creed’s offences asseverating that they had expected nothing else, was like a nightmare to Judith. When Cliantha screamed and clung to her and said she thought she saw Creed Bonbright in the bushes by the path-side, Judith shook her off angrily, but let the clamouring little thing creep back and make her peace.
“I forgot about you and Blatch—Oh, po’ Judy!” moaned Cliantha. “Ef hit was me goin’ to s’arch for the murdered body of my true love I don’t know as I could put foot befo’ foot!”
“The trail’s mighty narrow here—I’ll go in front,” said Judith. She freed herself, and thereafter walked alone with bent head.
As they descended into the hollow Andy began to hoo-ee; and finally he was answered from the neighbourhood of the bluff. Up this they climbed, since on this side they were cut off from the region below it by an impassable gulley. Halting on the top and looking down, they could see a lantern moving about and catch faint sound of the men’s voices.
“Who’s down thar?” Jephthah’s big rolling bass sent out the call. There was an ominous hesitation before Jeff’s perturbed tones replied,
“Hit’s me, pap, me an’ Buck Shalliday an’ Taylor Stribling.”
Andy found a tall tree at the bluffs edge, and began to descend through its branches with the swiftness and agility of a monkey.
“How is he—is he alive?”
The old man put the query at the edge of the gulf, stooping, peering over. Jim Cal sat down suddenly and began wiping his forehead. The moonlight showed his round face very pale under its beaded sweat.
“Andy’ll git hisself killed!” whimpered Pendrilla.