Again Douglas nodded. "He was gone, poor old Johnny. For you and me. I came on after you, alone."
Judith twisted her hands together. "But dead, Doug! And in such a simple way! O the poor little old chap! I can't forgive myself, Douglas!"
"It's the way he'd like to have gone. You are not to blame."
"O, yes, I am. I should have stopped and sent him home. But I was beside myself, Doug,—O, you don't know! you can't know!"
"You're not to blame yourself about Johnny, I tell you."
"Now I never do want to go back! You'll just have to grub-stake me, Doug. Please!"
Douglas pushed his hair back from his forehead. If only she would not plead with him! She never had done that. He did not believe that he could stand out against it.
"You mustn't think of going on alone, Jude," he said.
"Then you come as far as Bowdins' with me and get rested up for your trip back."
"I want you to come back with me," repeated Doug.
"No!" said Judith. "I'm never going back to Lost Chief!"
"Then come as far as the Mormon's. Get rested and get some clothes together and I'll take you out to Mountain City, and I'll loan you enough money to live on while you get a job, or I'll put you through college. Either you want. You've done a great stunt, Judith, crossing Black Devil in winter. But putting over a stunt isn't necessarily acting with judgment."
"How could I act with judgment, under the circumstances?" demanded Judith.
Douglas looked at her with passionate earnestness.
