The Turrentine clan was gathering for consultation, Judith knew that. It was Sunday, and much of this unwonted activity passed as the ordinary Sabbath day coming and going. But there was a steady tendency of tall, soft-stepping, slow-spoken, keen-eyed males toward old Jephthah’s quarters, and Judith had got dinner for the two long-limbed, black-avised Turrentine brothers, Hawk and Chantry, from over in Rainy Gap; and old Turrentine Broyles, a man of Jephthah’s age, had ridden in from Broyles’s Mill that morning.

With the natural freedom of movement that Sunday offers, information from the Card neighbourhood came in easily. Inevitably Judith learned all the details of last night’s raid; and everybody on the place knew that Creed Bonbright was alive, and that he was not even seriously wounded. He had been observed through the open door of Nancy’s cabin moving about the rooms inside. Arley Kittridge declared that he had seen Bonbright, in the grey of early morning, his head bound up and his left arm in a sling, cross from Nancy’s house to his office and back again, alone.

Sunday brought the Jim Cals home, too. Iley, humiliated and savage, bearing in her breast galling secret recollections of Pap Spiller’s animadversions on her management of Huldah, raged all day with the toothache, and a pariah dog might have pitied the lot of the fat man.

All day, as Judith cooked, and washed her dishes, and entertained her visitors, the events of last night’s raid were present with her. When 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 out. But they’s to be no killin’, an’ no mo’ shootin’ up houses whar they is women and chil’en. This ain’t no feud.”

“All right—we’ve got yo’ word for it, have we?” inquired Buck Shalliday eagerly. “You’ll stand by us?”

Suddenly a brand on the hearth flamed up, and Judith peering through a crack of the board shutter had sight of her uncle standing, his height exaggerated by the flickering illumination, tall and black on the hearthstone. About him the faint light fell on a circle of eager, drawn faces, all set toward him. As she looked he raised his hand above his head and shook the clenched fist.

“I’ve got obliged to,” he groaned. “God knows I had nothing against Creed Bonbright. And I can’t say as I’ve got anything against him yit. But I’ve got a-plenty against rottin’ in jail. I’d ruther die.”

“Will ye come with us, pap?” Jim Cal instantly put the question, and as he spoke the light went suddenly out.

“No,” returned old Jephthah doggedly. “I won’t make nor meddle. I’ve give you my best advice; I sont for Hawk an’ Chantry, here, an’ for Turn Broyles, to do the same. We’ve talked it over fa’r an’ squar’, aimin’ to have ye do this thing right—” He broke off, and then amended sombrely, “—As near right as sech a thing can be did. But you-all boys run into this here agin’ my ruthers, an’ you’ll jest have to git out yo’selves. All I say is, no killin’, and no raidin’ of folks’ homes.”

“No mo’ killin’, ye mean,—don’t ye?” asked Jim Cal. The fat man, goaded beyond reason, was ready to turn and fight at last.

“No, I don’t,” answered his father. “When I mean a thing I can find the words to say it without any advice. As for Blatch bein’ killed—you boys think yo’ mighty smart, but you’d show yo’ sense to tote fair with me and tell me all that’s goin’ on. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve seen interruptions and killin’s befo’ I seen any of you. An’ I’ll say right here in front o’ yo’ kinfolks that’s come to he’p you out with their counsels—an’ could do a sight better ef you’d tell ’em the truth—that I never did think it was likely that Creed Bonbright made away with a body inside of fifteen minutes. That tale’s too big for me—but I’m askin’ no questions. Settle it your own way—but for God’s sake settle it. Him knowin’ what he does an’ havin’ been did the way you boys have done him, he’s got to go. Run him out—an’ run him out quick. Don’t you dare tell me how, nor when, nor what!”

Judith started back as the sounds within told her that the men were groping their way to the door. As she stood concealed by darkness, they issued, made their quiet adieux, and went over to the fence where she could hear the stamping of the tethered animals. Cut off from the house, she retreated swiftly down the path toward the stable and would have entered, but some instinct warned her back. As she paused uncertain, hearing footsteps approaching from behind, indefinably sure that there was danger in front, there sounded a cautious low whistle. Those who came from the cabin answered it. She drew back beneath one of the peach-trees by the milking-pen—the very one from which Creed had broken the blossoming switch, with which she reproached him. Flat against its trunk she crouched, as six men went past her in the gloom.

“Who’s here?” demanded a voice like Blatch Turrentine’s, and at the sound she began suddenly to shudder from head to foot. Then she pulled herself together. This was no ghost talking. It was the man himself.

“Me,” answered Jim Cal’s unmistakable tones, “an’ Wade, an’ Jeff, an’ Andy. Buck and Taylor’s both with us—and that’s all.”

The man within opened the grain-room door, and the six newcomers entered.

“Whar’s old man Broyles, an’ Hawk an’ Chantry?” questioned Blatch.

“They rid off home,” said Shalliday.

“Well, what does Unc’ Jep say?” demanded Blatch, plainly not without some anxiety.

Before anyone could answer,

“Hark ye!” came Jim Cal’s tones tremulously. “Didn’t I hear somebody outside? Thar—what was that?”

In her excitement and interest Judith had moved nearer with some noise.

“I vow, podner,” came Blatch’s rich, rasping tones. “Ef I didn’t know it was you I’d be liable to think they was a shiverin’ squinch-owl in here with us. Buck, step out and scout, will ye? Git back as soon as ye can, ’caze we’re goin’ to have a drink.”

She heard the rattle of a tin cup against the jug. As she moved carefully down the way toward the spring, Blatch’s voice followed her, saying unctuously:

“Had to go through hell to get this stuff—spies a-follerin’ ye about, an’ U.S. marshals a-threatenin’ ye with jail—might as well enjoy it.”

She dipped her bucket in the spring branch, and bore it dripping up the path a short way. If Buck Shalliday met her, she had an errand and an excuse for her presence which might deceive him. When she came within sight of the stables once more she set down her bucket and stood listening long. Something moved outside the logs. They had posted their sentry then. She groaned as she realised that what she had heard was inadequate and insufficient. The knowledge was there to be had for a little daring, a little cunning.

Just as she had become almost desperate enough to walk up to the place and make pretence of being one with them, a stamp from the figure outside the corner told her that it was a tethered mule instead of a man. Emboldened she stole nearer, and found a spot where she could crouch by the wall so hidden among some disused implements that she might even have dared to let them emerge from their hiding-place and pass her. Again Blatch was speaking.

Blatchley Turrentine had come to his uncle’s house, a youth of seventeen—a man, as mountain society reckons things. At that time Andy and Jeff were seven-year-olds, Wade a big boy of thirteen; and even Jim Cal, of the same years but less adventurous in nature, had been so thoroughly dominated by the newcomer that the leadership then established had never been relinquished. And now the artfully introduced whiskey had done its work; these boys were quite other than those who had gone in sober and grave less than half an hour before, their father’s admonitions and the counsels of old man Broyles and their Turrentine kindred lying strongly upon them.

Judith heard no demur as Blatch detailed their plans.

“They’s no use to go to Unc’ Jep with what I’ve been a-tellin’ ye,” the voice of natural authority proclaimed. “I tell ye Polk Sayles says he’s seen Bonbright meet Dan Haley about half way down the Side—thar whar Big Rock Creek crosses the corner of the Sayles place—mo’ than once sense he’s been on the mountain. Now with what that man knows, and with the grudges he’s got, you let him live to meet Dan Haley once mo’ and even Unc’ Jep is liable to the penitentiary—but tell it to Unc’ Jep an’ he won’t believe ye. He’s got a sort of likin’ for the feller.”

“That’s what I say,” Jim Cal seconded in a voice which had become pot-valiant. “Pap is a old man, and we-all that air younger have obliged to take care on him.”

At any other time these pious sentiments would have brought a volley of laughter from Blatchley, but this evening Judith judged from the sounds that he clapped the fat man on the shoulder as he said heartily:

“Mighty right you air, James Calhoun. Unc’ Jep is one of the finest men that ever ate bread, but his day is pretty well over. Ef we went by him and old man Broyles and Hawk and Chantry, we’d find ourselves in trouble mighty shortly. They’s but one way to toll Bonbright out to whar we want him. We’ve got to send word that Unc’ Jep will meet him at moonrise and talk to him. The fool is plumb crazy about talkin’ to folks, and looks like he cain’t get it through his head that Unc’ Jep ain’t his best friend. It’ll fetch him whar nothin’ else will.”

“And we’ve got to hunt up something else for you to ride, Blatch, ef Jim Cal an’ me takes the mules,” Jeff remarked. “Jude mighty nigh tore up the ground when she found we’d had Selim last night. She give it out to each and every that nobody is to lay a hand on him day or night from this on.”

The girl outside heard Blatch’s hateful laugh, and knew with a great throb of rage who had ridden her horse the night before.

There was a stir among the men seated, Judith conjectured, on the grain-room floor, and a little clinking, as the jug of corn whiskey was once more brought into play by Blatch. Presently,

“All right,” said Buck Shalliday. “I’ll bring Lige’s mule. And I’ll have a message got to Bonbright that Jephthah Turrentine wants to see and talk with him out at Todd’s corner at moonrise a-Monday night. Will that suit ye?”

“Hit’ll answer,” returned Blatch. “Let’s see,” he calculated; “that’ll be about two o’clock. Ef he comes up to the scratch we’ll git Mr. Man as he goes by the big rock in the holler acrosst from the spring. That rock and the bushes by it gives plenty of cover. They’s bound to be light enough to see him by, with the moon jest coming up, and I want to hear from every man present that he’ll shoot at the word. I don’t want any feller in the crowd that’ll say he didn’t pull trigger on Bonbright. Ef we all aim and shoot, nary a one of us can say who killed him—and killed he’s got to be.”

The listening girl hoped for some demur, but Blatch Turrentine and his potent counsellor, the jug, dominated the assembly, and there came a striking of hands on this, a hoarse murmuring growl of agreement. She doubled low to avoid being seen against the sky and hurried back toward the cabin as she heard the men preparing to leave the grain-room.

Brave as any one of them there, enterprising and full of the spirit of leadership, Judith addressed herself promptly to saving Creed Bonbright. She went straight to her uncle’s cabin. No mountaineer ever raps on a door. Judith shook the latch, at first gently, then, getting no response, more and more imperatively, at length opening and walking in, with a questioning, “Uncle Jep?”

There was no answer, no sound or movement. With hasty fingers she raked together the brands of the fire; they flickered up and showed her an untenanted room. The bed was untouched, the old man’s hat and coat were gone. The pegs above the door where Old Sister always rested were empty.

Instantly there flashed upon Judith the intuition that her uncle, heartsick and ill-affected toward the quarrel, had silently withdrawn until it should have been settled one way or another. Well, she must work alone.