at
the table one of the boys stretched a hand to receive the food she had
prepared, she looked at it with an inward shuddering, wondering, was this
the hand that fired the shot?

All day as she talked to her women visitors of patchwork patterns, or the
making of lye soap, as she admired their babies and sympathised with
their ailments, her mind was busy with the inquiry what part she should
take in the final inevitable crisis. She remembered with a remorse that
was almost shame how, at their last interview, she had plucked back from
Creed her rescuing hand in jealous anger. That big mother kindness that
there was in her spoke for him, pleaded loud for his life, when her hot
passionate heart would have had revenge for his slight.

Yes, she had to save Creed Bonbright if she could, and to be of any use
to him she must know what was planned against him. It was dark by the
time the women-folk had gone their ways and the men remaining had
assembled definitely in old Jephthah's separate cabin. No gleam of light
shone from its one window. Judith watched for some time, then taking a
bucket as a pretext walked down the path to the cow-lot, which led her
close in to the cabin. She could hear as she approached the murmur of
masculine voices. Secure from observation in the darkness, she crept to
the window and listened, her head leaned against the wooden shutter. Old
Jephthah was speaking, and she realised from his words that she had
chanced upon the close of their council.

The big voice came out to her in carefully lowered tones.

"Well, Broyles, yo' the oldest, an that's yo' opinion. Hawk an' Chantry
says the same. Now as far as I'm concerned--" the commanding accents
faltered a little--"I'm obliged to agree with you. The matter has got
where we cain't do no other than run him out. I admit it. I'll say yes to
that."

Judith trembled, for she knew they spoke of Creed.

"Well, Jep, you better not put too many things in the way," came accents
she recognised as Turrentine Broyles's, "or looks like these-here boys is
liable to find theirselves behind bars befo' snow flies."

"Huh-uh," agreed the old man's voice. "I know whar I'm at. I ain't lived
this long and got through without disgrace or jailin' to take up with it
at my age; but they don't raid no more cabins. I freed my mind on that
last night; I made myself cl'ar; an' that's the one pledge I ax for. Toll
him away from the place and layway him, if you must, to run him ou