"This path takes off to Double Springs, Creed," she said, mentioning the name of a little watering place built up about some wells of chalybeate and sulphur water. "We might--do ye think mebbe we'd better go there?" Creed, who felt his strength ebbing, calculated the distance. They had seen, as they made the last turn under the bluff, the lights flaring at the Garyville station. Double Springs was more than a mile farther. "I reckon Garyville will be the best, dear," he returned gently. Then, "I wish I had cut a little better figure in this business--on account of you," he added wistfully. "You're everything that a man could ask. I don't want you to be ashamed of me." "Ashamed of you!" Judith's deep tones carried such love, such scorn of those who might not appreciate the man of her choice, that he was fain to be comforted. "If we had known each other better from the first I reckon you would have kept me out of these fool mistakes I've made," the young fellow said humbly. "You ain't made no mistakes," Judith declared with reckless loyalty, "Hit's the other folks--Blatch Turrentine and them that follers him--no good person could git along with them. Are you much tired Creed? Does yo' shoulder pain you?" "No, dear," he said softly, laying his cheek against the hand which he had drawn around his neck. "Nothing pains me any more. I'm mighty happy." And together thus they rode forward in darkness, toward Garyville and safety. Chapter XVIII Bitter Parting In the sickly yellow flare of the kerosene lamps around the Garyville station Judith got her first sight of Creed's face: sunken, the blood drained from it till it was colourless as paper, the eyes wild, purple rimmed, haggard--it frightened her. She was off of Selim in a moment, begging him to get down and sit on the edge of the platform with her, here on the dark side where nobody would notice them, and they could decide what was to be done next. He dismounted slowly, stumblingly, gained the edge of the platform, and there sat with drooping head. Judith tied the two animals and ran to sit beside him. "Ye ain't goin' to faint air ye?" she asked anxiously. "Lean on me, Creed. I wish't I knew what to do for ye!" The young fellow, half unconscious indeed, put his head down upon her shoulder with a great shuddering sigh. "I'll be better in a minute, dear," he whispered. "I reckon I got a little tired--riding so far."