The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1925-01-16
CHAPTER XV-Continued

curve of the river, pass rnder many
a sheltering, shadowing tree before
she dared slow her steps.
When she felt that she was over
taxing herself, she dropped from the
wild pace she had set herself into a
little jogging trot. When her, whole
body cried out at the effort demanded
of 1t. she slowed down to brisk
walk. She was shot through with
pain, her throat ached, she was grow
ing dizzy. But on she went stub
bornly. 1t was full hour after the
last sound of pursuit had died out
after her that she flung herself down
at the waters edge to drink and
battle her arms and face in the cold
stream. And, even then, she chose a
spot where the shadow of great
pine lay like ink over the bank.
The moon was high in the sky, the
world bright with 1t, when Judith left
the valley. into which the canyon had
widened and made her way slowly up
ward along a timbered ridge to the
west. OF Quinnion and Mad Ruth she
now had no fear. Their chance of
coming upon her was less than neg
ligible She could creep into a clump
of Understanding young trees and,
even if they should come, could watch
them go past. But as they had
dropped out of her world, another
matter had entered it. The mountains
had befriended her; they had opened
their arms to her and that was all
that she had asked Of them. They had
mothered her. drawing her into hiding
against their bosom. But it was a
barren, barren breast. And already
she was hungry, daring to eat but
sparingly of her handful of bread and
meat.
From this ridge, finding an open
crest she stood looking out over the
world. Mile after mile of mountain
and canyon and cliff fell away on
every side. She sought eagerly for
a landmark: to see yonder in the dis
lance Old Badly or Copper mountain
or Three Fools' peak, any one of the
mountains or ridges known to her.
And in the end she could only shake
her head and sigh YEARLY and slip
down where she was to fall asleep,
thanking God that she was free, ask
ing God to lead her Alright in the
morning.
The stars watched over her, pale,
wornout girl sleeping alone in the
heart of the wilderness; the night
breezes sang through the century-old
tree-tops; and Judith, having striven
to the uttermost, slept in heavy
dreamlessness.
With the cool dawn she awoke
shivering and hungry. Her hair had
tumbled about her face, and sitting
up she braided 1t with numb, sore
fingers. She looked at her hands; they
were stained with blood from many
cuts. Her skirt was torn and soiled !;
her stockings were in strips; her
knees were bruised. But as she rose
to her feet and once more searched
the riddle of a crag-broken world, her
heart was light with thankfulness.
Last night the one friend she had
with her was the North star. Today
she would seek to push on toward the
west. In that direction she believed
the Blue Lake ranch lay, though at
best 1t was guess. But going west
ward she could follow the course Of
the bigger streams, and soon or late,
If her strength held, she would come
to some open valley where men ran
stock. Now, she would go down into
the little meadow lying a mile a,yay
yonder and seek 20 find something to
eat If she could but dig a few wild
onions, wild potatoes, they would keep
her alive. West she would go. If for
no other reason than because thus she
would be setting her back squarely
upon the cavern where Quinnion and
Ruth were.
The sun rolled into clear sky and
warmed her. She made her way
down the long flank Of the mountain
and into the tiny meadow. For up
ward of two hours she remained there,
nibbling at roots which she dug up
with a broken stick, seeking edible
growths which she knew, finding lit
tie, but enough to keep the life in her,
the heart warm in her breast. Then
she went on, over ridge again, down
into a canyon and along the stream
which rose here and flowed westward.
By noon she was faint and sick and
had to stop often to rest, her legs
shaking under her. Again she made
q scant meal. She had stumbled on a
tiny field of wild potatoes and ate
what she could Of them, thinking long
ingly of a match for fire. The match
which Ruth had dropped she still had,
but she carefully reserved it now,
thinking how perhaps a trout, caught
In a pool, might save her life.
In her already half-starved conCi-
ton and with the demands constantly
put on her strength. she would grow
weaker and weaker If help did not
soon come. But she was still filed
with the glory of freedom.
1t was a heart-weary, trembling
dith who late that afternoon made her
way upward along another ridge,
seeking anxiously to find from this
lookout some landmark which she had
sought in vain last night. In. her
blouse were the few roots she had
brought with her from the field dis
covered at noon. Lying in a little
patch of dry grass, resting. she
watched the day go down and the
night drift into the mountains, filling
the ravines, creeping up the slopes,
rising slowly to the peak to which
she had climbed, seeping into her
soul. Never had the passing of the
day seemed to her so majestic a